


tomorrow, you might love me

by nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare/pseuds/nezumiprefersdanielleovershakespeare
Summary: Haru's favorite day is always tomorrow, when his best friend Makoto might fall in love with him.Preview:He moves his hand from Makoto’s, and he remembers how to exhale, does it softly so as not to wake the boy lying beside him, where he has lain so many times – this is nothing different.Maybe a little different. Now there are shadows of Makoto’s eyelashes tattooed against his cheek, flickering in the light of the television.Now there is Haru leaning forward the smallest bit.Now there is Haru’s lips light on Makoto’s, hardly touching, it doesn’t count.Now there is Haru leaning back, but not so much that he cannot feel Makoto’s even exhales against his skin.Haru closes his eyes, but even under his eyelids, the light from the muted television flickers.There is electricity on his lips.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote and posted this fic in March, 2015, and I'll be reposting it one chapter every day (even though clearly it's already completed). I'm reposting some of my old fics from the many accounts I previously deleted over the past few years, so if you're familiar with my fics and want to request that I repost a certain old fave, feel free to message me at my tumblr: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com or comment on this post: http://coolasamackerel.tumblr.com/post/160488980276/danielles-nezushifree-fics and I'll be happy to consider reposting it! For both my new readers and my old guys, hope you enjoy the fic!! :D

 When Makoto sleeps, he often moves.

            Curls his body into itself, arms closer to sides and knees into chest, and then he uncurls, stretches out, turns over.

            His chin dips into his own shoulder, then burrows further into the pillow Haru grabbed from the couch, and Haru watches him with some degree of fascination.

            He fell asleep while they were watching a movie, and though the movie still plays, Haru has no interest in it, and mutes it with a click of the remote by Makoto’s cocked knee.

            Haru prefers to examine how the flickering light from the screen glazes over Makoto’s relaxed expression, bounces off his cheekbones and sinks into his parted lips. He observes the way the light coats Makoto’s closed eyelids, the way Makoto’s eyelashes cast shadows over his own cheeks when the light from the television is bright enough.

            Haru crawls in front of Makoto, lies down beside him so that he can inspect the shadows of Makoto’s eyelashes at a closer range. With his face so close to his friend’s he can feel Makoto’s shallow breaths on his mouth, and Haru allows his own lips to part, matches his exhales to Makoto’s inhales.

            They breathe in synch for a minute, and then Makoto is moving again, this time his hand, falling from his thigh to the space in between his and Haru’s chests on the floor, and Haru looks at the long fingers.

            He reaches out between their bodies, touches Makoto’s thumb with his forefinger very lightly.

            It is nothing new, to touch Makoto’s hand. More times than he can count, this hand held Haru’s, pulled him out of his tub or a pool, grabbed onto his fingers if they watched a scary movie, pulled Haru’s hand away when tried to eat mackerel from the pan that one time.

            _You’ll burn yourself,_ Makoto had said, still holding Haru’s hand, and Haru had pulled it back, glared at Makoto, but left the mackerel alone.

            Now, Haru thinks he is burning himself. Just the very tip of his forefinger, barely brushing over the skin he has touched so many times.

            There is no need for the thrill in Haru’s pulse. There is no need for the spread of warmth traveling up his entire finger, along the back of his hand, down his arm and to his shoulder and settling somewhere in his chest, among his ribcage and beside his beating heart.

            Even though he meant to keep their breaths in synch, Haru finds that he has been holding his inhale in his lungs, realizes it only because Makoto’s exhale is extra deep on his face, and Haru has no breath to return to him because his lungs have forgotten how to deflate.         

            He moves his hand from Makoto’s, and he remembers how to exhale, does it softly so as not to wake the boy lying beside him, where he has lain so many times – this is nothing different.

            Maybe a little different. Now there are shadows of Makoto’s eyelashes tattooed against his cheek, flickering in the light of the television.

            Now there is Haru leaning forward the smallest bit.

            Now there is Haru’s lips light on Makoto’s, hardly touching, it doesn’t count.

            Now there is Haru leaning back, but not so much that he cannot feel Makoto’s even exhales against his skin.

            Haru closes his eyes, but even under his eyelids, the light from the muted television flickers.

            There is electricity on his lips.

*

Haru points at the number six scrawled in Makoto’s notebook.

            “That should be an eight,” he says, then returns to his book on whales that Rei bought him for his birthday while Makoto groans.

            “How?” he asks, and Haru turns a page in his book. It marks the end of the section on blue whales. He will now read about humpbacks.

            “Look at mine,” Haru offers.

            “Did you do yours?” Makoto asks, digging around Haru’s backpack for his notebook.

            “Oh. No,” Haru replies, remembering that he, in fact, could not be bothered to get to his take home math quiz as yet.

            “Haru!” Makoto exclaims, and Haru feels the tickle of Makoto’s hair against the side of his cheek along with the weight of Makoto’s forehead on his side as his friend butts his head into Haru’s shoulder.

            Haru doesn’t reply. He begins reading about humpback whales. Even though the average adult is 40-60 feet long, the largest ever recorded was 89 feet long.

            “Haru!” Makoto repeats, and the pressure is lifted from Haru’s shoulder. “If you help me, I’ll stay after at the pool tonight with you.”

            Makoto would stay after anyway, Haru knows.

            Still, he closes his book and glances at Makoto’s notebook, the unruly scrawls nearly unreadable.

            “All of your work is wrong. Start over,” Haru says, and Makoto voices his protest loudly, falls again on Haru’s shoulder, this time even closer, so that his hair brushes against Haru’s neck.

            Haru could turn slightly, rest his chin on Makoto’s head, just for a second, half a second, even.

            Instead, he reopens his whale book, thinking he might be able to read another page before Makoto stops complaining again.

*

The light of his phone screen distracts Haru from staring at the ceiling of his dark bedroom.

            He rolls over on his bed, reaches out to the night table, picks up his phone and squints at it.

            It’s a text from Makoto.

            Haru disconnects his phone from his charger, brings the phone under his blanket and rolls over, curling around it.

            The message, potentially, could say anything.

            _good night, haru._

_sleep well, haru._

_have good dreams, haru._

_thinking of u as I fall asleep, haru._

_i’m scared i’ll have a nightmare, haru, come over._

_i miss u, haru._

_i love you, haru._

            Haru rolls onto his back again, stares at his ceiling now while he holds his phone on his stomach. He taps his fingers against the now-darkened screen, lightly.

            The room is quiet but for the taps of his fingers and Makoto’s voice in Haru’s head, saying any combination of words because that is what this unopened text is.

            A mystery. A secret.

            Haru has a secret. It is not so crazy, maybe, that Makoto has a secret too.

            He breathes in and out, lets his head fill with Makoto’s voice, so easily conjured. He thinks his own thoughts might even be in Makoto’s voice, sometimes, on accident. This can only be a good thing, he reasons.

            Everyone should have their own Makoto in their head, he reasons.

            He is never alone this way, he reasons.

            Haru falls asleep before opening the text message. He wakes on his back because unlike Makoto, he does not move in his sleep, he does not even turn.

            His phone, however, has slid out from under his relaxed hand and lies on the bed beside him, jutting into his side.

            Haru sits up in bed, pulls his knees to his chest, finally opens the text message.

            _look at the moon tonight, haru, it’s amazing_.

            Haru leans against his wall, tilts his head back on the hard surface.

            His secret drums along with his heart, deep in his chest.

*

Haru has received so many of Makoto’s smiles that there is no use in collecting them.

            It would be like collecting the sun’s rays, or the air.

            So when Makoto smiles at him after Haru wins a practice race against Rei, there is no need for Haru to pull back his goggles so that he can fully memorize the creases by Makoto’s eyes.

            There is no need for him to shake his head so that his hair does not fall in his eyes and he can see without distraction the tilt of Makoto’s chin.

            There is no need for him to stare at this boy’s lips, the way they turn up softly, naturally, in a gesture that seems to Haru as if Makoto himself is not always aware of it himself.

            Does he know how often he gives his smiles to Haru?

            Is he aware that such an expression has too much meaning to be offered for free so frequently, without thought, without doubt, without hesitance?

            Haru could ask Makoto, but he is too busy reaching out to take his friend’s outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled from the pool.

            “Great time, Haru,” Makoto says, still smiling the millionth smile Haru has received, but Haru still cannot look away from it, cannot let it slip away without collecting it with the rest.

            He does not collect the sun’s rays, he does not collect the air.

            But he thinks he should be allowed this one act of foolishness, this habit of collecting Makoto’s smiles.

            There is nothing harmful in it, after all, Haru is certain.

*

The problem with having a best friend who is so entirely one with Haru’s own thoughts is that sometimes, Haru does not want to be understood.

            He does not want Makoto to know every thought that crosses his mind.

            Not when Makoto is frowning at the water he spilled on his t-shirt, is pulling his t-shirt off at the table, is laughing now and saying he was hot anyway, this is as good a solution as any.

            Haru is not smitten with topless Makoto. He has seen topless Makoto as much as he has seen his own naked body. There is nothing new in it, there is nothing thrilling.

            It is only later, when they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, playing Super Smash Bros on Haru’s Wii, that Haru is bothered.

            “What’s wrong, Haru?” Makoto asks, even though Haru has not said anything.

            Haru’s Blastoise shoots a beam of water at Makoto’s Kirby, throwing him off the ledge of the stadium.

            He did not realize anything was wrong until Makoto asked him, and he glances over at his friend, who is still shirtless.

            There should be sexual tension. For research, Haru has used the last two weeks to watch three romantic comedies, two Lifetime movies, the entire _Twilight_ series, _The Notebook,_ and several videos on pornhub.

            When the man he is in love with is half-naked beside him, Haru has learned that there is supposed to be sexual tension. There is no sexual tension between him and Makoto, as they sit next to each other, one bare shoulder brushing against one t-shirted shoulder. There is only comfort, and Haru has learned that comfort is important in a relationship, but it should only come after a phase of passion, after a period of insuppressible energy.

            Haru wants his heart to race. He is waiting for his palms to sweat. He cannot figure out why his breaths are so easily caught.

            “Nothing,” Haru replies, and the problem is that Makoto knows when Haru is lying.

            The crease between Makoto’s eyes is expected because Haru knows what Makoto is thinking too.

            They know each other too well. There can be no secrets kept, so Haru must be wrong.

            Maybe he is not in love, after all, if Makoto has not said anything about it.

            Maybe they are just friends.

            Haru turns away from his friend.

            _I want to kiss you,_ he thinks, but Makoto makes no reaction, and Haru is left wondering if he has been silencing his secret for so long that it has completely ceased to exist altogether.

*

Nagisa’s joke makes Makoto laugh so hard he has doubled over, is laughing silently now, just shaking shoulders and a hand over his mouth.

            Haru stares at him. Even Nagisa has stopped laughing at this point, and they all watch Makoto attempt to compose himself.

            When Nagisa starts giggling again, it is at Makoto, and Rei is smiling too, then, but looking at Makoto with some concern all the same.

            He does not appear to be able to breathe, he is laughing so hard. Haru didn’t even think Nagisa’s joke was that funny. Water was not involved in the punchline. The punchline, in fact, was penguins, which is what Haru expected, and he does not know how Makoto didn’t expect it as well.

            “Mako-chan is going to pee himself,” Nagisa says gleefully, and Makoto shakes his head now, hand still over his mouth, and Haru notes with some alarm that his eyes are watering.

            “Makoto,” he says, quietly, thinking such laughter is potentially dangerous, such naked happiness surely cannot be healthy.

            “Maybe we should throw water on him,” Rei suggests, peering at Makoto more closely, raising his water bottle tentatively.

            “I want to do it!” Nagisa shouts, lunging for Rei’s water bottle, and the result is Rei being soaked.

            Makoto glances at him, erupts in more hysterics that have Haru shaking his shoulder.

            “Hey, stop it,” Haru says, a little angry now because Makoto’s face is turning red.

            “Haru,” Makoto gasps, dropping his hand from his mouth, instead clutching Haru’s wrist. “I can’t – I can’t – stop – ”

            Haru blinks at him, and then Makoto is burying his face in Haru’s sleeve.

            His laughter shakes Haru’s entire arm. It sneaks through his shirt, slips under his skin, shudders along his veins, warms Haru from the inside out.

            Haru lifts his hand, not thinking, weaves his fingers through Makoto’s hair.

            “Shhh,” he says, gently, “it’s okay.”

            Makoto’s hair is unbearably soft. It coats Haru’s fingers, and he examines the contrast of shiny brown against the pale of his skin.

            As he combs his fingers through Makoto’s hair, Makoto’s shoulders finally stop shaking. His laughter stops in spurts, and then Makoto is simply breathing deeply into Haru’s shirt, his face still buried in the fabric, his exhales hard and fast, slowing only gradually.

            Haru drops his hand from Makoto’s hair, and Makoto leans back, looks up at him, eyes still wet and face pink now. He stares at Haru for a long moment, and Haru stares back.

            He wants his hand to be back in Makoto’s hair. He wants the feel of Makoto’s warmth pressed back into his skin, hard and fast.

            It is a moment before Haru realizes Nagisa and Rei have long since fallen silent, and he looks away from Makoto to peek at them, notices them staring at him and Makoto, though on Haru’s glance, they both face each other and quickly start talking, rapidly, both about different things – Rei, about the angle of his stroke and Nagisa, about the hierarchy of honey bees.

            Haru watches them talk at each other for a minute, then resumes eating, does not glance back at Makoto until he hears his name.

            “Haru. Do you have a spare napkin? I can’t find mine,” Makoto murmurs, softly, and Haru hands him a napkin, notices that Makoto won’t quite look at him when he takes it with a small, “Thanks.”

            _You’re welcome, Makoto._

            Haru nods silently at his food.

*

When Haru meets Rin for lunch, the weather is so nice that they sit outside, at a table offered shade by a bright red umbrella.

            Haru watches the sidewalk and eats his fries while Rin talks about a new exercise regime he thinks they should both start.

            “Hey, Haru,” Rin says, after a pause, and Haru looks away from a guy who has the same striped shirt as Makoto to look at him.

            He sips his water and waits while Rin plays with the cap of his own water bottle.

            “So – Have you ever thought about a relationship? You know, having one?”

            Haru takes his water bottle from his lips. “Having a relationship,” he repeats, and Rin quickly waves his hand between them.

            “You know, with a girl. Or – A somebody,” Rin offers, wincing slightly, interlocking his fingers with his bangs and shoving them away from his face, though they just fall back.

            “No,” Haru replies, because he has not thought about having a relationship with a girl or a somebody.

            Makoto is not a somebody.

            “Right,” Rin says, quickly, nodding enthusiastically. “Me neither, I mean, we don’t have time for that. We’ve got, you know, graduation, and the Olympics, of course, who has time for a relationship?” he says, laughing as if the thought is ridiculous, and Haru cannot help but wonder why he brought it up in the first place.

            But then Rin is biting his lip, and Haru returns to watching the sidewalk, noting that the guy who was wearing Makoto’s striped shirt is no longer in sight.

            “Say we did have time, though. You know, for relationships.”

            Haru glances back at Rin. The wind shifts through his hair, curls the long strands around his cheeks as he watches Haru warily.

            “I’m just saying, how would you even know if you wanted one? With the somebody,” Rin adds, sighing and shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean, if you know the somebody for a long time, you just get used to them, right, so all I’m saying is it’s hard to tell if you want more – the relationship thing – or if you just want it to be the same.”

            Rin looks almost angry, definitely disgruntled, and Haru thinks he should stop biting his lip or he will definitely tear his skin.

            “All right, Nanase, jeez, just asking for an opinion here, you don’t have to always do your silence thing,” Rin snaps.

            Haru takes another sip of water, swallows, waits for Rin to tuck his hair roughly behind his ears before replying. “You could have sex with the somebody, and if it feels right, then you know you want the relationship,” he offers, and Rin’s hand drops from his hair.

            “What kind of bullshit idea is that?” Rin shakes his head again, laughs in a short exhale. “God, Haru, I should have expected something like that from you. Wait – Have you had sex?” Rin demands, leaning across the table.

            Haru leans back, picks up a fry, drops it back on his plate.

            “You haven’t. There’s no way. I mean, unless – ” Rin cuts himself off, looks at Haru for a long time, and Haru stares back.

            He does not know what Rin is thinking, but he never knows what Rin is thinking, and he doesn’t much care.

            If it’s important enough, Rin will tell him.

            The wind picks up again, then, and the strands of hair Rin tucked behind his ears fly back again, sweeping over his expression until the curiosity is hidden in a blur of sun-stained red.

*

“Haru-chan!” Nagisa sings, announcing himself beside Haru in the hallway, so Haru turns.

            There is a removable tattoo of a purple butterfly on Nagisa’s hand, and it is thrust into Haru’s face.

            “Look! Also, what’s your favorite day? I’m taking a poll for scientific purposes,” Nagisa rambles enthusiastically.

            Haru leans back from Nagisa’s hand until it is dropped from his face. “Tomorrow,” he says.

            “Wednesday?” Nagisa asks, nose crinkled.

            “No, always tomorrow,” Haru repeats, glancing sideways at Nagisa for a moment to make sure he understands.

            “So…Tomorrow, your favorite day will be Thursday?” Nagisa asks.

            Haru nods.

            “And Thursday, your favorite day will be Friday?”

            “Yes.”

            “That’s a little crazy, Haru-chan. Best answer I’ve gotten yet,” Nagisa says, approvingly. “Now you have to say why.”

            “Why what?”

            “Why your favorite day is tomorrow!” Nagisa nearly shouts, pulling on Haru’s sleeve.

            “Haru, Nagisa, hi. Nagisa, what are you doing here? Isn’t your class on the other end of the hall?” Makoto asks, appearing around a corner, looking flushed and holding a Biology textbook that he ran off to retrieve from the class he left it in.

            “Haru-chan’s favorite day is tomorrow,” Nagisa chimes.

            “March third?” Makoto asks, squinting at Haru, who stares back.

            “No, _tomorrow._ As in, the day after today,” Nagisa says slowly, deliberately.

            “Today is March second,” Makoto replies, sounding confused.

            “Yeah, but his favorite day is _always_ tomorrow. Don’t you see, Mako-chan?” Nagisa asks, standing on his tiptoes and peering closely at Makoto, who blinks at him before stepping back.

            “Your favorite day is always tomorrow?” he asks Haru, looking around Nagisa, and Haru nods.

            “Tell us why, Haru-chan!” Nagisa shouts.

            Haru shrugs.

            “It’s for science,” Nagisa whispers seriously, still pulling on Haru’s sleeve.

            “We have class, Makoto,” Haru says, extracting his sleeve and nodding to Makoto before turning and walking towards their classroom.

            Makoto hurries to catch up, is matching steps with Haru in seconds, during which Nagisa moans behind them then is back to his cheerful self, yelling goodbye.

            “Tomorrow, huh?” Makoto says, nudging Haru’s shoulder with his own.

            “Well, what’s your favorite day?” Haru asks, and Makoto smiles, another smile for the collection Haru shouldn’t keep.

            “Today,” Makoto replies, and then they are sitting down, class starting, leaving Haru to tune out the lecture and wonder what could be so good about today, anyway.

*

Rin and Nagisa are also over when Makoto asks to use Haru’s laptop because Ren and Ran just learned to use email, and both ran next door to Haru’s to inform Makoto that they sent him an email, he needs to look at it immediately.

            They quickly ran back home before Makoto could inquire the contents of the email, so he grabs Haru’s laptop from his bedroom and brings it back to the living room, where they have been watching _The Guardian_ , some American movie that Rin picked since he won the coin toss.

            In Makoto’s absence, Nagisa stretched across the couch in his space, and Makoto looks as though he is about to pull up a chair from the kitchen, but Rin shoves Nagisa’s shoulder.

            “Move back over,” Rin snaps, so Nagisa shuffles over, closer to Haru instead of Rin this time so now Makoto has to sit between Nagisa and Rin.

            Haru thinks it’s foolish to be bothered by this. He sits next to Makoto all the time. There is hardly a moment when Makoto is not beside him – it does not matter at all, that Nagisa separates them on the couch.

            “This part is great,” Rin says, and Haru pays attention to the movie again, watches the main character beat every swimming record made by his Coast Guard trainer.

            Haru’s not really sure what’s going on in the movie, as the excess of water in the film distracts him from reading the subtitles, but he still thinks he likes it.

            “Oh my god!” Makoto shouts, and Haru turns to stare at him, but Nagisa’s back is in the way, as Nagisa has nearly pounced on Makoto.

            Haru leans forward so that he can see what’s going on, and it is Nagisa, Makoto, and Rin staring at the screen of the laptop that is open on Makoto’s lap.

            Rin covers his mouth with his hand and starts laughing, Makoto’s face is pale, and Nagisa is trying to press something on the keyboard, but Makoto slams the laptop shut before he can.

            “Aw, Mako-chan, you’re no fun. I wanted to watch some,” Nagisa says, sagging back against the couch, and Haru blinks from him to Makoto.

            The realization of what Makoto saw is slow to come, but when it does, it is sudden, what Haru had been watching before Nagisa texted, saying they should all have a movie night.

            “It was for educational purposes,” Haru explains after his realization, because Makoto is gaping at him like he is in need of some sort of explanation.

            Rin laughs harder, pressing both hands over his mouth now, but Haru hardly glances at him.

            Makoto blinks quickly, looks resolutely at the closed laptop on his lap as he stammers, “Oh – That’s not – Haru – Don’t – I don’t need to know – ”

            His face is alarmingly red. Haru does not know if it is because he has never seen porn before, or because he is surprised that Haru is watching it.

            Haru imagines Makoto watching porn, but only for a moment, because the thought makes him feel very strange, jittery and energetic and with the great urge to take several laps around a pool immediately.

            “Can we watch some?” Nagisa demands, grabbing the laptop from Makoto’s limp hands, but then Rin, who has apparently recovered, stands and snatches the laptop from Nagisa.

            Haru hardly notices the quick exchange of his laptop. He is watching Makoto, suddenly unsure of his reaction. Makoto stared at his laptop screen for a good amount of time. He obviously noticed the fact that it was two guys in the video.

            The problem with having a best friend who is so entirely one with Haru’s own thoughts, Haru has always thought, was that there were times when he did not want to be understood.

            But he always wants to understand. There is another problem, he realizes, and it is when he cannot understand what Makoto is thinking, when even the voice of Makoto that lingers inside his head is quiet, and Haru is lost, unsure, feels stripped of half his own consciousness because Makoto’s thoughts were always there, beside his own, and now that they are gone, there is something missing.

            “Haru, can I talk to you?” Rin asks, but he’s grabbing Haru’s arm, so Haru has no choice, ends up following Rin into his kitchen while Nagisa seems to give up on the laptop and starts complaining about the subtitles on the movie again, to Makoto, this time.

            Haru tilts his head, tries to hear if Makoto replies, but Rin distracts him.

            “You know Makoto. He’s just easily embarrassed by stuff, it doesn’t mean anything,” Rin is saying, and Haru glances at him at Makoto’s name.

            “What?”

            Rin sets Haru’s laptop on the kitchen table and runs a hand through his hair before gesturing vaguely to it. “You know, with this. You don’t have to be upset or anything, he doesn’t care, I’m sure – ”

            “I’m not upset,” Haru interrupts, because he’s not.

            He’s confused. He’s worried. He’s supposed to understand Makoto, and now he does not, and that means Makoto can be thinking anything.

            There are some good things, under the category of anything. But there are some bad things too, and Haru is not used to having to worry about those things, is not used to Makoto having the power to hurt him – is not used to ever thinking of Makoto as someone who _could_ hurt him.

            “Look, Haru, jeez, I’m just saying – Forget it!” Rin mutters, throwing his hands in the air.

            “Wait, Rin,” Haru says, grabbing Rin’s arm when he turns to walk away.

            Rin turns back, glaring under his bangs, but Haru isn’t deterred.

            He lets go of Rin’s sleeve and points at the closed laptop. “This isn’t…weird, is it?”

            The glare softens, and Rin’s shoulders fall. He leans his hip against the table and tucks his hair behind an ear, looking at Haru too earnestly. “No, Haru. It’s not. Of course it’s not.” He grins then, a little, punches Haru lightly on the arm. “Don’t be stupid, Nanase.”

            Haru looks away from him and nods at his closed laptop. It’s not like he thought it was weird in the first place.

            He doesn’t understand his relief, the way he is exhaling too deeply as if he had been holding his breath.

            Back on the couch, Makoto is normal again.

            Haru looks at him, and when Makoto finally glances up again, he offers Haru another soft smile for his collection.

            It is smaller than usual, but something about it makes it one of Haru’s favorites, as if it is logical to have a favorite smile, as if it makes any sense at all.

*

The walk from Makoto’s house to his own is too short for Haru to notice the way the stars are brighter than usual, and he’s looking at the ground anyway, mostly because he thought he heard something.

            The steps in front of his house remain empty, so Haru begins walking up them, but then a cat jumps out – from where, Haru isn’t exactly sure – and watches him from a few steps up.

            Makoto likes this cat. Haru thinks he named it, but he can’t remember the name.

            Haru doesn’t have many feelings about the cat. It distracts Makoto on their walks to school, which can be annoying, especially because they’re usually running late – thanks to Haru, but that’s irrelevant.

            But it is interesting to watch Makoto interact with the cat. He sometimes crouches down, his towering frame stooped so that he can offer a tentative hand to the cat, who always comes forward after a minute or two, sniffs the tips of Makoto’s fingers very carefully.

            Makoto is always very gleeful, at these sniffs. Laughs, sometimes, in a breathy way – so as not to scare off the cat, Haru is sure – and his eyes crinkle softly.

            _Very cute,_ Haru sometimes thinks, but he is not thinking that about the cat.

            Now, the cat watches him, and Haru feels odd without Makoto as their intermediary.

            “Hello,” he says, after a minute of silence. “I am Makoto’s friend,” he reminds the cat, who continues to stare impassively, clearly not recognizing him.

            Not altogether surprising. Haru does not think he would notice himself, in Makoto’s presence. He understands fully what it is like to only have eyes for Makoto.

            Perhaps he and this cat are not so different.

            “Will you wait for him here?” Haru asks. He realizes that the cat is always on his steps, and never Makoto’s, and the thought is strange.

            But then, it’s possible that the cat thinks Makoto lives here. He certainly is over enough to justify such a thought, and this cat cannot be expected to know better than it observes.

            Haru wonders what exactly this cat has observed. If it watches Makoto as closely as Haru does.

            “It’s okay,” Haru says, to the cat, when it doesn’t reply – but of course it doesn’t. “I wait for him here, too.”

            The cat blinks slowly, and Haru thinks about his own words, notes the truth in them.

            He is always waiting for Makoto, when Makoto is not present. For the next morning, when he will see Makoto again. For tomorrow, when Makoto will be beside him again.

            He looks up, then, notices the stars are brighter than usual in the sky that night.

            He is going to tell this to the cat, see if maybe it noticed too, but when he looks back at the steps, it has disappeared again.

            Haru looks for a moment more, then ascends them, going to bed early that night so tomorrow will come more quickly.

*

Rei sits beside Haru on the edge of the pool. His goggles are around his neck, and he squints at Haru.

            “Your kick was strong today,” Haru notes, the same thing he mentioned to Makoto as they watched Rei and Nagisa race each other.

            Rei smiles warmly at him. “Thank you so much, Haruka-senpai.”

            Haru blinks at him, taken aback but glad for his happiness at such a simple comment. He shrugs. “It’s true. Good work.”

            Across the pool, Nagisa is calling out to Makoto, trying to get him to agree to a race.

            The sun is hot on Haru’s shoulders.

            “I’m really grateful for you guys,” Rei says softly, after a few minutes, and Haru glances at him, sees that Rei is not even looking at him, but across the pool as well, at Nagisa who has a wet hand wrapped around Makoto’s ankle, and Makoto, who is protesting because this is dangerous, Nagisa better not pull him in the pool, he is the captain, after all, and certainly that type of authority demands some respect.

            _Me too,_ Haru thinks, but he does not say it, as at that moment, Makoto is raising his hands in surrender, and Nagisa is finally letting go of his ankle only so that Makoto can jump back into the pool.

            He emerges laughing, and then he’s looking at Haru and Rei, gesturing to them before calling out.

            “Are you going to join the race?” he asks, and Rei agrees, so Haru cannot say no, finds himself slipping back into the cool water, a second skin over his own, swimming over to the side where Makoto and Nagisa have already positioned themselves, one hand on the wall.

            Haru places his hand beside Makoto’s against the cement, glances at him.

            “Ready?” Makoto asks, wet hair dripping onto his own grin.

              _Always._

*

The red hair is unmistakable even when pulled into a ponytail under a baseball cap, and Haru pauses at his mailbox, watching the ponytail bob away for a few seconds before calling out.

            “Rin!”

            Rin stops walking, then turns slowly, waving jerkily. “Oh, hey, Haru,” he says, as if it is a coincidence to find Haru outside his own house.

            Haru waits, and eventually, Rin walks over to him, pulling down on the brim of his cap so that Haru can’t see his eyes.

            “Want to come inside?” Haru asks, and Rin shrugs and kicks the toe of his sneaker into the sidewalk.

            Haru watches him for another second, then grabs his mail and turns, walks up the steps to his house and figures if Rin wants to come in, he can.

            On the fourth step, he hears Rin’s footsteps behind his.

            “Hungry?” Haru asks, walking to the kitchen as Rin toes off his sneakers by the door.

            “Not really.”

            “It’s mackerel.”

            “I took that into account when I said not really,” Rin says, and Haru looks up from tying his apron, blinking at Rin.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Just because I refuse mackerel doesn’t mean there’s something wrong. You know, there’s something wrong with you for eating that shit all the time. Don’t act like I’m the freak here,” Rin snaps, slamming himself down into a kitchen chair.

            Haru stares at him for a few seconds before replying. “I meant, what’s wrong that has you coming all the way over to my house and then leaving without coming in.”

            Rin points at him. “Hey, I could have been visiting Makoto.”

            “No.”

            “Don’t just go making up your opinions about me based on nothing!”

            “Makoto isn’t home,” Haru says, calmly, and at least Rin looks sheepish.

            “Well. Fine.” He jams the brim of his hat even further over his eyes. “I should have texted.”

            “It’s fine. What’s up?” The mackerel sizzles in the pan with popping sounds, and Haru grabs himself a water bottle from the fridge, pulling one out for Rin as well and tossing it to him.

            He catches it, but doesn’t open it, picks at the label instead.

            “Nothing,” he says, after Haru has even forgotten he asked a question, and he glances up from his pan at Rin, tries to see his face, but the baseball cap is in the way.

            “Okay,” Haru says. It’s clearly not nothing, but it can be, if Rin needs it to be.

            When the mackerel is done, Haru slides it onto two plates, passing one with a fork to Rin as he sits beside him at the table.

            “I didn’t want,” Rin objects, looking up at Haru to reveal exasperation under the brim of his cap.

            “It’ll help,” Haru insists, and Rin sighs, cracks a small grin that reveals just the very tips of his teeth.

            “You’re crazy, Nanase.”

            “I’m not the one moping over nothing,” Haru replies easily, taking a bite of mackerel.

            It is delicious. Definitely what Rin needs to deal with whatever is wrong with him.

            “It’s not nothing,” Rin snaps, and Haru peers at him as he runs a hand over his face.

            He pulls his cap off, places it lightly next to his plate, and the Rin that is exposed is tired and missing the energy of the boy Haru is used to.

            Haru pokes his mackerel with his fork, wondering if maybe it will be enough to help Rin after all.

            “If it helps, I don’t think your new swimsuit makes your legs look weird,” Haru supplies, and Rin squints at him.

            “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “It’s your fault for not being specific,” Haru replies, equally annoyed.

            “I’m not talking about – Wait, who said the swimsuit makes my legs look weird? Do you mean the grey one? With the two stripes? I like that one!”

            “Rin, please stay focused,” Haru says, and Rin presses his fingers into his temples.

            “It’s about the somebody,” he says, finally.

            “What somebody?”

            “Don’t you remember? I asked you about a somebody a few weeks ago.”

            “Who?”

            “Nobody! Just somebody!” Rin snaps, and Haru blinks at him.

            “I think you should eat more mackerel,” he says, because Rei informed him once that hunger induced delusions, and he thinks this is a plausible cause for Rin’s odd actions.

            “Nanase, I swear, I will take this mackerel and shove – ” a buzzing interrupts him, and Rin digs into his pocket, pulls out his phone and glares at it for a second before throwing it onto the table.

            Haru observes him carefully. “Is that the somebody?” he asks, after the buzzing stops.

            When Rin looks at him, Haru wants to look away. He did not think he would have to see his friend look so helpless ever again, not after everything was finally resolved, after everything finally became okay.

            “Rin – ”

            “He acts like I’m not allowed to be worried about him. But when I was angry, when I was upset, I just bottled it up and it messed me up, Haru! I know you’re not supposed to do that! But he won’t talk to me about it, or he’ll just brush it off, say it’s not a big deal – I know it’s a big deal, of course it’s a big deal! I know what swimming means to him – It means the same thing to me, I couldn’t lose it, I wouldn’t be able to lose it, it would kill me, but he’s not even – ” Rin cuts himself off, weaves his fingers through his bangs and tightens his fist around his hair, and his other hand is around his fork, tapping it hard on his plate.

            “Rin,” Haru breathes.

            Rin shakes his head, stares down at his plate, stops tapping his fork and just clenches his fist around it. The skin over his knuckles whitens slowly, like changing colors of the sky in the early morning. “And he won’t let me be angry. He won’t let me be concerned. I’m not just doing it because – We’re friends first, friends would feel this way, friends would be angry and concerned, it has nothing to do with – ” Rin grits his teeth, lets go of his hair and drags his fingers over his face, his skin pulling under his fingertips.

            When his hand falls from his face, it slaps the table, and Rin glances at Haru.

            Haru has not finished his mackerel, and even though it is cold now, he has never minded it cold, will eat mackerel at any temperature.

            But now, he pushes his plate away from him, leans across the table towards his friend.

            He does not know what to do. He does not know what to say. But this is Rin, and Haru swore he would not let himself watch his friend break down again, feel helpless again.

            “What would you do, Haru?” Rin asks, quietly now, looking at his lap, and Haru considers.

            The first person he thinks of, of course, is Makoto. But it is not often that Haru is scared for Makoto. It is not often that he is worried for him. Makoto makes it easy, to love him. Takes care to hide his unhappiness, to only offer Haru smiles, enough so that collecting them becomes a foolish thing, enough so that Haru is always filled with them, is always warm with them, is always content with them.

            If Makoto’s smiles were to become rare, Haru does not know what he would do.

            He would be scared. He would be confused. He would be concerned, and Makoto would not have a say in this concern, would not be allowed to tell Haru that it is okay, for his smiles to be less natural, for his grins to be less frequent, for Haru’s collection to dwindle.

            “Don’t listen to him,” Haru says, voice hard, hard enough that Rin is looking up at him again, from below his scattered bangs. “There is a reason you feel the way you feel. Don’t be ashamed of it or let him convince you of anything otherwise, Rin.”

            He doesn’t name the _him._ For as long as Rin needs the _him_ to remain just a somebody, Haru will accommodate that.

            He knows a thing or too, after all, about having secrets.

            Rin’s shoulders sag, and then his elbows are on the table, his face is in his hands. “Remember when we were kids, Haru?” he asks, quietly, between his fingers a minute or so later.

            Haru nods.

            “Things were easier,” Rin says, and Haru agrees.

            There were no secrets, when they were kids.

            There were no knuckles whitening, like changing colors of the sky in the early morning.

            But there were no shadows of eyelashes tattooed on the skin of pale cheeks, either, and as much as things got harder as they grew up, at least they got more amazing, too.

*

There is a bottle of green nail polish on Makoto’s dresser, and Haru picks it up, reads the name on the bottom.

            _Emerald Eyes._

            “The twins,” Makoto explains, walking in and rubbing a towel in his hair.

            “I want to paint your nails,” Haru says because he was thinking it, but again, Makoto gave no response the way he used to so naturally.

            “What? Me?” Makoto asks, freezing mid-rub, and Haru nods.

            He knows he has already touched Makoto’s hands too many times to count, so there is no reason for him to want to touch them even more.

            No reason he can tell Makoto, anyway, so he simply waits for Makoto to agree with him, and he finally does so after he has sat on the edge of his bed, started rubbing the towel into his hair again, more slowly this time, a crease between his eyebrows.

            “Well, okay. If you really want to,” Makoto says, sounding doubtful but sliding off his mattress all the same, sitting on the floor against the side of the bed.

            Haru sits in front of him, crosses his legs beneath him just like Makoto and scooches forward until their knees touch beneath the fabric of their pajamas.

            He holds his hand out, and Makoto looks at it for a moment before putting his own palm against Haru’s, their skin sliding against each other.

            Makoto’s is still slightly damp from his shower. Warm. Fingers long enough that his fingertips reach Haru’s wrist, fall against the pale underside like raindrops on a sidewalk, and Haru wonders if the warmth of Makoto’s skin will stain his own, darken his flesh the way water does the street.

            He hopes it will.

            He has forgotten to open the nail polish, but does not want to move his hand from underneath Makoto’s, so he holds up the bottle between them.

            “Twist the cap,” he instructs, and Makoto does so with the hand that is not in Haru’s.

            “Have you done this before?” Makoto whispers, voice soft between them, as if this is something intimate, something that must be done carefully, something other than one boy painting the nails of his friend.

            Haru shakes his head, leans forward the smallest bit, moves his hand so that Makoto’s fingers are trickling along his palm before Haru catches them in his own fingers, picks aside each until he holds Makoto’s pinky.

            He sets down the bottle, extracts the brush and raises it above Makoto’s nail.

            The nail of his pinky is small, almost square in shape. His hand is sweating in Haru’s, or maybe Haru’s hand is sweating around his.

            He glides the brush over the smooth surface, and a stripe of green coats Makoto’s nail.

            Makoto lets out a breathy laugh, and Haru glances up at him, notes that he is inches away.

            His eyes are not the color of this nail polish. They are lighter, not as flashy. They are soft, much more familiar.

            “What?” Haru asks, for an explanation of the laugh.

            Makoto inhales, and Haru can see it, in the way his chest rises under his t-shirt. “You just look very serious, Haru-chan,” he says, softly.

            Haru nods. “I am very serious, Makoto.”

            Makoto swallows, and Haru can see this too, the way his throat moves. He nods, and Haru nods back, then looks back down at Makoto’s pinky and resumes painting.

            There is no sound but for the exchange of shallow breaths and the clink of the nail polish bottle when Haru taps it with the side of the brush, not wanting any bit of _Emerald Eyes_ to spill onto the carpet.

*

It starts raining from the moment Makoto texts Haru to the moment Haru’s front door opens, and it is clear to Haru then that it did not simply start raining, but it started raining _hard._

            Makoto is soaked.

            “I’ll get you a towel,” Haru says, while Makoto looks at him helplessly from under plastered bangs.

            He holds his arms out by his side as he stands next to the front door, as if worried his wet sleeves will drip onto the rest of his soaked clothing.

            Haru returns with the towel, but instead of handing it to Makoto, he reaches up, has to stand on his toes to rub it over Makoto’s head.

            Makoto lifted his hands to take the towel, but they fall awkwardly now, over Haru’s hands instead as Haru drapes the towel on top of Makoto’s head and rubs slowly.

            Makoto peers up at him from under the white fabric. There is a raindrop caught in his eyelashes, and it is not dislodged even when he blinks.

            “Thank you, Haru.”

            He lets go of Haru’s hands, and Haru drops his hands from the towel. Both boys let it lie on top of Makoto’s head while they stare at each other.

            The raindrop falls from Makoto’s eyelashes, drips down his cheek like a tear, like Makoto has been crying.

            “You should dry yourself quickly. You’ll get sick. I’ll get you spare clothes,” Haru says, though maybe it makes more sense for Makoto to simply go back home, to take a warm shower in his own house, to get dressed in his own clean clothes.

            Even so, Makoto makes no objection, but that might just be because Haru does not allow him the opportunity, is quickly walking away and grabbing the first clothes he can find that will fit Makoto – a t-shirt that belonged to him anyway, a pair of shorts that might be a little short, but at least they’ll be dry.

            He returns to the front door, where Makoto has taken off his shoes and socks and stands barefoot and soaked, towel around his shoulders now.

            “Here,” Haru says, holding out the clothes, and he should move out of the way so that Makoto can go to the bathroom to change, but he doesn’t.

            Makoto could walk around him, if he truly wanted, Haru thinks.

            Instead he just blinks at Haru, and when it becomes clear Haru isn’t moving, he strips his sweater.

            Makoto’s torso is nothing Haru hasn’t seen before. Makoto toweling off his wet torso is nothing Haru hasn’t witnessed a hundred times – more than that, much more than that.

            Makoto unzips his jeans now, and it is nothing new. He pulls them off, bending down, straightening back up, and his boxers are damp, stick to his skin.

            “It was raining really hard,” he whispers, to his jeans on the floor, and Haru nods.

            Yes. He can see that.

            A hand falls on the waistband of his boxers, and Haru has seen Makoto naked before, it is nothing exciting, it is nothing nerve-wracking, that is the truth, that is the truth.

            “Haru – ” he says, even more quietly than his whisper, but instead of finishing his sentence, he’s pulling off his boxers, and Haru is looking away from what he has seen before, what is nothing new, what will not cause any sexual tension between them anyway, it’s not like it matters.

            He holds out the clothes, and they are taken, first the shorts, then the t-shirt, and only once Haru is empty-handed does he look back up at Makoto, whose cheeks are pink even though they have no reason to be, after all the times they’ve undressed in front of each other in the locker room.

            “Thank you for the clothing,” Makoto says, soft syllables interrupted by the pummeling of rain against Haru’s front door.

            Haru doesn’t want to say _You’re welcome._

            He wants to kiss those rain-stained lips before the water dries completely. He wants to taste the sky, the way it blends with Makoto’s skin, a cocktail of Haru’s two favorite things – water and the boy who lives next door.

            “You’re welcome, Makoto,” Haru says, and they both bend down to pick up Makoto’s wet clothes and the now-damp towel, letting the rain dry on Makoto’s lips without interference.

*

Ren and Ran seem a little too young to be having school dances, but they insist this is the case, and that they are in desperate need of lessons immediately.

            Makoto and Haru, of course, are the designated teachers.

            At first, Haru gets Ran on his socked feet and Makoto gets Ren on his, and they step in circles around Makoto’s living room, but there is a lot of stumbling and laughing and occasional falling, and just when Haru is about to point out that he in fact may not be the best qualified teacher seeing as he does not know a thing about dancing himself, Ran jumps off his feet and demands a demonstration.

            Only after a few seconds does Haru realize that the demonstration is meant to involve only him and Makoto, and Haru blinks at his friend, who is blinking back, looking equally lost.

            “Guys, I mean, you can see, we really don’t know how to dance…” Makoto hedges, but as with most things, the twins are adamant, and Makoto is putty in their small hands.

            And then Makoto is in Haru’s hands.

            It took a minute or so for him to get there. Ren and Ran jumped on the couch, watching Makoto in earnest, and Haru was watching Makoto too, watching as he winced sheepishly at Haru, a silent apology for his siblings and their crazy requests.

            Haru does not mind Makoto’s siblings and their crazy requests.

            Then Haru was watching Makoto walk towards him, small steps, slow steps, socks on carpet that Haru glanced down at, thinking if he was younger, he could have stepped on Makoto’s feet – would have loved to step on Makoto’s feet and let Makoto lead him all around the living room the way he did for Ren.

            “I guess, if it’s okay with you,” Makoto is saying, in front of Haru now, only a foot between them now, and Haru nods.

            Of course it’s okay.

            Nothing has ever been so okay.

            Makoto takes a deep breath that Haru watches with the rise of his chest, and he lets it out in a series of shallow laughs, and Haru knows this means Makoto is embarrassed because he knows everything about Makoto – but he does not know what it feels like to dance with Makoto, and this, Haru is certain, is entirely wrong, must be corrected at once.

            “Are you leading, or am I?” Makoto asks, while Haru’s heart beats loudly enough to shake his entire chest, and Makoto must be able to see the trembles under the thin fabric of Haru’s t-shirt, he must.

            Haru is breathless. His heart is too loud. His palms are sweating. His skin is hot and wiry and he is shaking, and maybe there was not sexual tension when Makoto was shirtless beside him, but there is _something_ now, when Makoto is fully clothed in front of him, asking Haru who will lead their dance.

            “You,” Haru says, because if Makoto leads, his hand will be on the small of Haru’s back, and as much as Haru wants to wind his arm around Makoto, he wants Makoto’s arm around him more.

            As much as he loves this boy, he wants this boy to love him more.

            Makoto nods, holds up a hand, and Haru folds his fingers around it, wraps his thumb around it.

            He reaches up, places his hand on Makoto’s shoulder, and the fabric of his t-shirt is soft, thin.

            Makoto is not looking at Haru. He is looking somewhere between them, in the space that is too large even though it has rarely been quite so small. He is looking down when he places his remaining hand, and it is not winding around Haru, it is not bracing against the small of his back, it is instead falling onto his waist, hovering over his t-shirt, and Haru is unsure if his t-shirt is still there because he swears he can feel Makoto’s skin on his, he swears he is being burned.

            It is unbearable.

            It is so damn lovely.

            When Makoto exhales again, Haru can hear it, a steady stream of air that happens to fall a bit against Haru’s forehead, to flutter his hair, to wisp past his skin.

            He is looking up at Makoto, and Makoto finally peers at him, is not blinking, is not blushing, is just looking, and Haru wonders what he sees.

            He probably sees a childhood friend in his arms because that is what Haru is supposed to see when he looks at Makoto, but it is not.

            Haru sees another small smile for his collection when he looks at Makoto. Haru sees his absolute favorite person when he looks at Makoto. Haru sees the owner of the voice inside his own head when he looks at Makoto. Haru sees the face that lingers behind his closed eyelids at night when he looks at Makoto. Haru sees the man who has become a fantasy when he looks at Makoto.

            Haru sees his other half when he looks at Makoto, and then Makoto’s hand is tightening just slightly around his palm, then Makoto’s grasp is bunching the fabric of his t-shirt against his waist, and they are stepping once, Makoto leaning forward before he steps so Haru follows this lead and takes a step backward, and they are dancing.

            The twins put on music earlier, but Haru doesn’t hear it, isn’t sure if it’s still playing or not. He only hears the giggles of Makoto’s siblings on the couch very faintly, so he cannot be sure if he is imagining them or not.

            Mostly, he hears his own pulse, and it is dreadfully loud. He can hear his own breaths, shallow and quick. He can hear Makoto’s quiet “Sorry,” because the boy steps on Haru’s foot once, steps back quickly, then does so again a few seconds later, and there’s another gentle, “Sorry” placed into the small space between them.

            Haru does not reply. He is too busy breathing to reply. Too busy feeling Makoto’s grip on his waist, the way his hand slowly relaxes against his t-shirt, fingers spreading so that Haru can feel the whole hand against his skin, wonders if a handprint will remain, if he’ll be branded by this man, a reminder of their first dance.

            “Is this – Is this enough?” Makoto asks, after only a few steps, and the twins both chorus Haru’s thoughts.

            “No!”

            Haru’s hand tightens around Makoto’s shoulder, just faintly, but enough so that Makoto glances at him.

            “We’re not so bad,” Makoto says, sheepishly, while they continue with their small steps in their small circle.

            Haru does not nod back. Instead, he thinks that he has never been scared to be near Makoto, and he should not be scared now because Makoto cannot hurt him, he can’t, he can’t.

            So Haru shifts his hand an inch or so to the left, noticing not for the first time how broad Makoto’s shoulders are, and now, how much room there is for his cheek, which he rests between his hand and Makoto’s neck.

            His chest is against Makoto’s now, and Haru can feel it rise against his, quickly, and he assumes Makoto is gasping.

            He can no longer feel Makoto’s hand on his waist or Makoto’s palm against his own, not because they have left his skin but because all he can feel is his cheek on Makoto’s shoulder.

            He cannot believe his cheek is on Makoto’s shoulder. His bones are tense, and he consciously relaxes them, exhaling onto Makoto’s neck, his chest sinking into Makoto’s body.

            His heart beats too close to Makoto’s body, and he knows Makoto can feel it, but he does not know how to make it stop, he does not know how to do anything.

            “Haru,” Makoto whispers, voice hitching, breath shifting through the very top of Haru’s hair in a way he can only barely feel, “are you tired?”

            Because this is the only logical explanation for why Haru’s cheek would rest atop Makoto’s shoulder while they danced their small circle on the carpet of Makoto’s living room.

            Because this is the only reasonable answer for why Haru’s breaths would be so close to Makoto’s neck, for why Haru’s chest could be pressed up against Makoto’s.

            _Yes,_ Haru thinks, closing his eyes because that is what he would do if he was tired. _Yes, Makoto, I am tired._

_I am tired of waiting for tomorrow, Makoto._

_Love me today._

_Love me today._

_Love me today._

*


	2. Chapter 2

It is Rei’s older brother’s birthday, and Rei has decided to bake him a cake.

            He is visiting home, and Rei wants the cake to be a surprise, which leads, of course, to Rin covered in flour, chasing Nagisa around Haru’s kitchen while Makoto attempts to persuade Rin to drop the knife.

            Rei has his nose in a cookbook and seems completely unaware of the commotion around him as he reads instructions to Sousuke, who wears one of Haru’s aprons as he adds 1 ½ teaspoons of baking soda to the bowl.

            “How much mackerel?” Haru asks, standing next to Sousuke, his lack of concern preventing him from listening to Makoto’s pleas to help stop Rin when he runs past them.

            “No mackerel, Haruka-senpai!” Rei says, nose finally emerging from behind the book and exasperation clear in the crease between his eyebrows.

            He pushes up his glasses while Haru frowns.

            “Doesn’t sound appetizing.”

            “It’s cake, Nanase,” Sousuke says, whisking butter and eggs in a small bowl.

            “So?” Haru asks, but before Sousuke can reply, he is grabbed by Nagisa, who launches himself at Sousuke and twists him around with arms around his waist, huddling close to his back.

            “Save me, Sou-chan!” Nagisa yelps, peeking above Sousuke’s shoulder, and then Rin is beside Haru, seething with the knife in his fist and flour in his hair.

            “Don’t use Sousuke as a shield! Get out from behind him!” Rin snaps, while Sousuke places down the whisk and rubs his nose with the back of his hand, getting flour on it.

            “Drop the knife, Rin,” he says, and Haru peeks at Rin.

            “Please,” Makoto adds, joining them, out of breath, coming to stand between them and clutching his side.

            “There’s no mackerel in this cake Rei’s making,” Haru informs Rin, who glances at him, looking rather psychotic with flour over his cheeks, in his eyelashes, on his lips – courtesy of Nagisa.

            “It’s cake, you idiot!” Rin nearly shouts.

            “There’s no need to shout,” Makoto says weakly.

            “So?” Haru asks Rin, who lets his knife-wielding arm fall and shakes his head.

            “I give up. If I kill Nagisa, I’d have to kill you too for being equally annoying, and that’s too much for one day,” he sighs, placing the knife on the counter, and Sousuke grins at him.

            “That’s the spirit,” Sousuke says, reaching out, ruffling Rin’s flour-coated hair in a way that makes it flutter like the smallest flurry of snow.

            Rin stands for a moment in the middle of this flurry, then steps numbly back, turns his face away from Sousuke, but Haru can still see it, the red tint struggling to be seen under the faint coat of flour on his cheeks.

            “Get off, idiot, you’re getting flour everywhere,” Rin murmurs, even though Sousuke’s hand is no longer in his hair, and then he’s turning and opening Haru’s fridge, sticking his face in because he can probably feel the blush, knows the coat of flour isn’t enough to hide it.

            “Did you finish whisking?” Rei asks, still oblivious, back behind his cookbook.

            “This is such a mess,” Makoto says helplessly, looking around Haru’s flour-stained kitchen.

            “Am I safe?” Nagisa pipes up, finally unlatching himself from Sousuke’s waist as Sousuke turns to resume whisking under Rei’s strict command.

            Haru is going to ask about the mackerel again, but when he breathes in, he inhales a whiff of flour, and end up sneezing, ducking his face into his sleeve.

            He sneezes three times in a row before emerging, eyes watering.

            “Bless you, Haru-chan. Here,” Makoto says, and Haru blinks at the tissue he is offered before taking it to blow his nose.

            “Thanks,” he mumbles.

            The fridge door closes, and Rin is back, stands between Haru and Makoto. “Your face is red,” he says, pointing at Haru, and Haru peers at him from above his tissue.

            “So is yours,” he replies, which has Rin scowling, complaining about how stupid baking is anyway, why does Haru have so many aprons, the kitchen is a complete mess and he better not have to clean this shit up, he swears he’s got flour in his ears, and then he’s picking up the knife again and chasing Nagisa back around the kitchen while Rei reads out step six.

*

_wanna go 4 a walk?_

            Haru debates over bringing a jacket. The weather is warm now, but sometimes the nights get cold.

            He has a feeling he will be hot, however, and leaves his jacket on the couch, puts on his shoes and opens his front door to see Makoto standing at the bottom of his steps, facing away from him and looking up at the sky.

            He only glances down when Haru has descended the steps and stands beside him.

            “I couldn’t sleep,” Makoto says, and Haru nods as they start walking, side by side.

            They walk in silence for a while, after Makoto tells a quick story about the twins acting up at dinner, and only when they have gotten so far that the beach is beside them does Makoto speak again.

            “Do you ever think about the future, Haru?” Makoto asks.

            They already decided on Tokyo. Makoto at university, and Haru training for the Olympics. Haru does not know what else there is to think about.

            “Tokyo?” he asks, after a moment, letting Makoto’s voice settle into the darkness before he speaks so that his own voice will not blemish the gentle syllables.

            “Yes. And the rest of it.”

            “The rest of what?” Haru glances at Makoto now, traces his eyes over the familiarity of his friend’s profile. Waves crash behind Makoto’s lips, and Haru could not be more in love.

            “Of everything,” Makoto says softly, hardly a sigh, and he seems sad, Haru thinks, but he is unsure, and that is the worst part.

            He is always sure, when it comes to Makoto. He is always supposed to be sure.

            Haru looks away from his profile, watches their feet as they walk instead. He shakes his head at his feet because he does not understand what Makoto is trying to say.

            What is everything?

            To Haru, everything is Makoto.

            But to Makoto, Haru is not sure, and it hurts, a kind of squeezing in his chest, a kind of hollowness in his stomach that makes him want to buckle forward, curl around himself, hunch over this emptiness so that it does not grow any larger.

            Makoto’s laugh is gentle, lovely.

            “I’m not making sense, am I?” he says, and Haru looks back up at him.

            Makoto is looking at him too now, smiling his small smile, the _It’s okay, Haru_ , smile, the smile meant to put Haru at ease.

            Haru does not have a smile to put Makoto at ease. The thought is sudden and awful.

            “Something is bothering you,” he says.

            Makoto’s grimace is slight. “I don’t know. No. Yes. I don’t know,” he repeats, and they stop walking, lean against the rail that borders the beach instead, Makoto stopping first and Haru stopping beside him, their elbows not quite brushing.

            “What don’t you know?”

            Makoto sighs, deeply, his shoulders hunching, and Haru is concerned, does not often see this towering frame sagging into someone who looks, to Haru, so small.

            “A lot of things. More things than I thought. Do you ever feel like there’s so much you don’t know? We’re supposed to be getting older, and sometimes I think it’s not that hard, but other times I just don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to let things change,” Makoto says, a stream of words he throws softly at the ocean, and Haru stares at the waves, waits to see the small splash of them breaking the surface.

            “What do you want to change?” he asks, finally, clutching the railing in his palms, and it is cold, makes Haru shiver.

            He wishes he had brought that jacket.

            “I don’t – It’s not that I want – I don’t know if I want – Things are just changing that I didn’t plan for, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Mostly, I think it is. But sometimes – ” Makoto turns to look at Haru, and Haru can feel this, feel the familiar gaze from eyes he knows better than his own, so he looks away from the waves and at his friend beside him.

            _Sometimes?_

            “Sometimes,” Makoto says, while Haru watches his lips move, “it really scares me.”

            Haru watches Makoto. Waits to hear Makoto’s voice inside his head that will explain this. Waits to understand because he always understands – although not so much, recently, and this, Haru realizes, is a change.

            He is scared of this change too.

            “Makoto – ” Haru starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish.

            When there is everything to say, he realizes, he is often left with nothing.

            Makoto is looking at him, waiting.

            Haru shivers, and it is an excuse he takes, hating himself for taking it, not knowing how to say anything else.

            “I’m cold,” he mumbles, and he thinks Makoto is disappointed, but it’s dark, and what does he know anyway – suddenly, his best friend is a mystery, is unfamiliar, is something scary, is someone he does not understand.

            Haru is absolutely freezing, but he does not think it has anything to do with the jacket he left on his couch at home.

*

Haru is underwater when he decides to tell him.

            Just dove into the pool, just pulling his arms into strokes, just starting to rise to the surface, but as of this moment, water surrounds him.

            Encases him.

            Comforts him.

            In the silence of the water, Haru can finally think.

            He thinks that no matter what he does, he will never be able to feel how he did in the past.

            He thinks that there is a reason the way he felt _when they were kids_ cannot be achieved again, and that is because they are not kids anymore.

            He thinks that since he and Makoto cannot go back to the place they once had been, there is no use in keeping his new feelings silent anymore just in case they go away.

            He thinks that he doesn’t want them to go away, anyway.

            He thinks that maybe tomorrow is too far away.

            He thinks that it has to be today.

            Haru breaks the surface of the water, tilts his head to the side in a way that is so natural, breathes for the precise duration of time in a way that is so easy.

            When his face is back in the water, he accidentally smiles, but he thinks it might not count because no one can see it anyway, and he has his lips under control by the time he takes his next breath, natural and easy.

*

Haru forgets to text Makoto to come over, and sits very still on his couch as he waits for his best friend for an hour before remembering.

            _Oh, that’s why._

            He picks up his phone, touches Makoto’s name, looks at the screen, the last thing Makoto texted him – _thanks haru-chan! :)_ – yesterday at 4:26pm.

            He types slowly, just two words.

            _come over_

            Waits less than a minute, and his screen hasn’t gone dark yet when Makoto’s reply slides under Haru’s text.

            _ok._

            Haru puts his phone on the coffee table, rubs his palms on the knees of his sweats. He counts and reaches two hundred fifty-eight when his front door opens.

            “Hey, Haru, it’s me,” Makoto calls, but Haru knows this already.

            It’s always Makoto.

            It’s always been Makoto.

            It will always be Makoto.

            Makoto walks into the living room, is wearing a light blue t-shirt and brown pants and green socks with white stripes on them.

            Beautiful, the boy is beautiful, and it has nothing to do with his light blue t-shirt or brown pants or green socks with white stripes on them, but even so, as Haru observes this, all he thinks is that this boy beautiful.

            “Wanna play that racing game Rin left? I’ll hook it up,” Makoto says, drifting over to the TV, but Haru shakes his head, and Makoto stops.

            “I have to say something,” he says, mostly to remind himself that this is not any other day.

            Makoto blinks, then walks over, sits on the couch beside Haru, and they pivot to face each other, the tips of their knees touching.

            Haru looks down at their knees. He doesn’t like this angle.

            “We need to sit on the floor,” he says, and Makoto tilts his head.

            “We do?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay, Haru,” Makoto says, and they slide off the couch, sit on the floor across from each other, cross-legged, both knees touching now, just as they sat when Haru painted Makoto’s nails _Emerald Eyes._

            Just as they did when Haru didn’t tell Makoto he loved him even though he wanted to.

            “What is it, Haru?” Makoto asks, softly, like they are in the library, like it is forbidden to let his voice carry further than just Haru’s ears, inches away from him.

            _I love you, Makoto._

_I am in love with you, Makoto._

_Love me back, Makoto._

_Aren’t we in love, Makoto?_

            “I want to kiss you,” Haru says, and it is not what he is supposed to say, so he’s not sure why he says it, doesn’t even realize he has said it until after it is said, and the words float between them, and Haru only notices them there, notices that they are the wrong words, wonders how they managed to leave his lips without his permission, wonders where the real words went.

            “Haru,” Makoto says, and Haru wonders if Makoto meant to say this, or if his lips are acting up too, saying the wrong things without permission.

            Makoto blinks, and Haru watches him, the way his lips are parted, perfect for kissing, the way his cheeks grow pink, the way he is looking at Haru as if he is startled by the words too.

            Maybe he knows this is not what Haru meant to say. Maybe he is wondering how Haru’s lips managed to say these words without permission. Maybe he is wondering where the real words Haru meant to say are hiding as well.

            It’s too late to do anything but accept the words he has said, as Haru does not know how to turn back time, so he takes a breath, rewrites his script in his head.

            “What do you think?” he asks, truly curious because he truly doesn’t know.

            He has never had to ask Makoto what he thinks before. It is a weird thing to ask, but maybe not as weird as the last thing he said.

            Makoto looks down, swallows, looks back up. He rubs the back of his neck and the pink on his cheeks turns pinker. “Um – Okay. I think – I think we could do that,” he mumbles, and Haru waits for one of Makoto’s smiles to add to his collection, but he doesn’t receive one.

            He receives eyes blinking up under eyelashes.

            He receives an even pinker pink that spreads from Makoto’s cheeks down to his neck.

            He receives another swallow.

            He receives parted lips that are perfect for kissing.

            Haru nods. This is good, he thinks. This is what he wants.

            To kiss his childhood friend. The boy next door. Makoto.

            He’s breathing a little too fast now, but ignores that.

            “Okay. We should lean closer, then,” he manages to say, and Makoto nods numbly.

            “Yeah. We should,” he agrees, and it dawns on Haru that he has no idea why Makoto is agreeing.

            Maybe it is because this is what Makoto does. He agrees.

            _I want to paint your nails,_ Haru says.

            _Well, okay,_ Makoto agrees.

            _come over,_ Haru texts.

            _ok,_ Makoto agrees.

            Haru doesn’t know if this is a bad thing. He needs to think about it, but he cannot think, he doesn’t remember how to think.

            Nothing will be the same, if they kiss. Haru knows this. Is so scared of this. Heart beats too loud because of this. Body shakes because of this. Cannot breathe because of this.

            “Haru,” Makoto breathes, onto Haru’s lips because they are close, because they are about to kiss.

            “Yes?” Haru asks.

            “I’m a little nervous,” Makoto says, and Haru nods.

            “Yes,” he agrees.

            “Maybe we don’t have to kiss,” Makoto says, and Haru nods again.

            “Yes,” he agrees again.

            They both lean back, and the relief is dizzying.

            Nothing has to change, nothing ever has to change, and that is a good thing, that is the best thing, it has to be.

            Haru ignores the disappointment, the heaviness of it that sits on the relief, weighs it down, squashes it to nothing.

            Makoto is looking at his hands on his lap, is breathing still through parted lips. “Haru,” he says, after a minute, maybe two minutes, maybe three.

            Haru waits.

            Makoto looks up at him again, but doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to say anything because Haru has Makoto’s voice inside his head, it is back now, after so long, it is back.

            “Maybe just one kiss,” Haru says, agreeing with Makoto’s voice inside his head, and Makoto nods, looks so grateful that Haru can tell what he is thinking again.

            “Yes. Okay,” he says, and they lean closer again, breathe on each other’s lips again. “Now?” Makoto asks.

            “Now,” Haru agrees, and the word has just left his lips when Makoto’s lips replace it, fall onto his mouth.

            Neither boy moves.

            They are best friends. Haru has held Makoto’s hand more times than he can count. Has seen Makoto shirtless more times than he can count. Has slept beside Makoto more times than he can count.

            But they are best friends, and best friends don’t kiss, so he is not really sure why they are kissing, thinks maybe this is not even a kiss, just two boys pressing their slightly parted lips together, breathing into each other’s mouths, refusing to move.

            There is warmth. Makoto’s breath filling up his mouth, spreading to every corner, slipping down into Haru’s chest, waiting in line with blood cells until it too can enter the heart, it too can be pumped all over Haru’s body through his veins and arteries and capillaries and whatever else they talked about in biology.

            It is so nice. It is so strange, but it is the nicest thing Haru has ever felt, so he stays perfectly still, does not want this nice thing to change.

            It is Makoto, who pulls away, but not too far, and then he’s speaking before Haru can truly feel disappointment.

            “We could kiss again, if you wanted, Haru-chan,” Makoto says softly, and it is Haru’s turn to agree.

            “Okay,” he agrees, and they kiss again, but Haru wasn’t ready this time, was waiting for Makoto to ask, _Now?_ but Makoto did not ask, just leaned forward and kissed him.

            At first it is like the first kiss. Neither boy moves, but then Makoto does, lips slowly closing around Haru’s top lip, so Haru tries closing his own lips too, thinks maybe this is what he is supposed to do – and he has watched movies, done research on what he is supposed to do, so he confirms to himself – yes, this is right, this is correct.

            Makoto is leaning closer, Haru can feel the added pressure, still soft but a little more insistent, and Haru wonders if Makoto did research too, because it sure feels like it, he definitely knows what he is doing, he definitely is doing it right.

            They kiss more with opening and closing lips, with Makoto leaning closer, with his breaths being pumped around Haru’s body, and then there is Makoto’s tongue, and it slides once over Haru’s top lip, grazes his teeth, makes him gasp.

            He reaches up, finds his hand on Makoto’s shoulder, slides it slowly up to Makoto’s neck, up further until it is in Makoto’s hair, just the tips of his fingers weaving into silk.

            He opens his lips further, touches Makoto’s tongue with his own, but only for a second because then Makoto is pulling away, quickly, and Haru’s hand falls from the tips of his hair back onto his lap.

            Makoto is breathing very loudly, in gasps, and Haru watches him, wants to touch his own lips, but he doesn’t because he doesn’t want to lose the feeling in his fingertips of the silk of Makoto’s hair.

            “I think – Haru, can we – Maybe – ”

            Haru realizes he is breathing just as loudly as Makoto. Maybe that is why Makoto cannot speak. He knows his words will just be drowned out by the sound of their breaths.

            Makoto glances up at him, looks absolutely helpless, and Haru wonders if he is the one who did this to him.

            “I need to take this slow,” he breathes. “I want to, but – It’s – It’s you, Haru, and I – ” Makoto cuts himself off.

            He is scared, and that is obvious, Haru sees it so clearly, is slightly amazed by it.

            “Can we do this slowly, Haru-chan?” he asks, voice small, for such a towering frame.

            Haru nods. “Yes,” he says because he doesn’t mind one bit.

            He will wait for tomorrow, if that is what Makoto wants.

            He has always loved tomorrow, and this does not need to change – Change is scary, anyway, and Haru’s favorite part of Makoto is how comfortable he makes Haru feel, how safe he makes Haru feel.

            “Thank you, Haru,” Makoto says, and he smiles another smile for Haru’s collection, and it is a new one, one that is stained with Haru’s lips.

*

Haru isn’t familiar with awkward.

            He knows the word, of course. Can list examples of situations that other people might find awkward, that his friends have found awkward, stories that they have told him, times when they have thought he must have felt awkward too.

            But he never did.

            Awkward is discomfort. It is embarrassment. It is a desire to be anywhere else.

            But most places Haru goes, so does Makoto. And Haru has never desired to be anywhere else but beside this boy.

            Makoto is comfort. He is ease. He is contentment.

            Haru has never known awkward because he has always known Makoto, and in any situation he could rely on Makoto to still feel the same about him, to still be there for him, to remain his best friend, and this, Haru thinks now that he finally deliberates on it, is why he has never known awkward.

            It only makes it that much harder, when Haru finally becomes aware of the feeling of awkward. He has not had any practice with it. He is unable to hide it, unable to manage it, unable to figure out what exactly is expected of him, and now he cannot go to Makoto for comfort because Makoto is the reason for the discomfort.

            Makoto is the cause.

            At first, Haru doesn’t notice it, maybe because he is so unacquainted with it. There is Makoto extending a hand to him in the morning when Haru is in the tub, and there is Haru taking this hand, nothing new, nothing strange, no change at all as Makoto tells Haru they will be late while handing him a towel.

            Haru takes the towel, dries his hair, dries his body, puts on his uniform, and goes into the kitchen to find Makoto heating up food for him, nothing new, nothing strange, no change at all.

            They put on their shoes at the door, Makoto reminding Haru to bring an umbrella because it might rain on their walk home, and it’s nothing new, nothing strange, no change at all.

            The walk to school is quiet but for snippets of Makoto’s conversation, and it is all casual, nothing new, nothing strange, no change at all.

            In fact, the entire day at school is like every other day, even practice is like every other practice, and during the walk home together that afternoon there is nothing new, nothing strange, no change at all.

            Not until they reach Haru’s house, are in front of Haru’s stairs, and they both stop walking, stare up at the steps.

            “So, um,” Makoto mumbles, and Haru looks at him, feels unsure and jittery – and that is new, that is strange, this is a change after all.

            “Are you coming over?” Haru asks, and it is the first time he asks Makoto this question without knowing the answer.

            “Er, do you want me to?” Makoto asks, wincing.

            “Yes,” Haru says, too quickly, and Makoto is blushing, which Haru doesn’t want to see, so he turns abruptly and starts walking up his steps.

            In his house, he deposits his backpack and the unused umbrella next to his couch and heads to the kitchen, perusing the fridge before grabbing a water bottle because he’s not hungry.

            “No mackerel?” Makoto asks, looking startled, and Haru shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but then he’s regretting it – he should have just eaten, should not keep allowing things to change because it’s weird, this feeling he has, this discomfort he has, this unease he has.

            They look at each other in silence for too long, and then Makoto points at the couch. “Want to watch something?” he asks, weakly, and Haru nods too eagerly.

            Makoto sits on the couch first, and Haru is left to follow, stands in front of the couch suddenly unsure.

            How close is too close?

            He settles with a few inches between them, and is altogether too conscious of these inches, does not know how he never noticed these inches, wonders if there were ever inches before or if this is the first time there are inches and how on earth did he never take note of exactly how close to his best friend he sat on his couch so he could recall this information in such crucial times of doubt.

            “Haru, the remote,” Makoto says quietly, and Haru glances at him to see that he is pointing to the armrest on the other side of Haru, where the remote sits.

            Would he normally just have reached over Haru’s lap, grabbed the remote himself?

            How long has Haru allowed them to sit and stare at the dark television screen before Makoto had to call the remote to his attention?

            Why is he thinking all of these thoughts anyway, it was just one kiss, it was just one kiss.

            “I think there’s something wrong with me,” Haru notes, the remote in his hand but he hasn’t yet pressed a button on it.

            “Something wrong?” Makoto asks, glancing at him, and Haru looks at him, nods.

            “Yes. I might be sick.”

            “Sick?”

            “Sick,” Haru confirms. He holds the back of his palm to his own forehead, expects it to burn, is surprised that it is cool.

            “Do you have medicine? I’ll make you tea – ” Makoto says, crease between his eyebrows, and he attempts to stand up, but Haru reaches out, grabs his wrist, and then Makoto is sitting back down.

            Because Haru has realized he is not sick. The odd feeling, the awful feeling – it is awkwardness.

            And it is awful.

            “I changed my mind. I’m not sick,” Haru says, letting go of Makoto’s wrist, and the crease deepens.

            “Haru?”

            “I feel awkward,” Haru says, and Makoto’s eyes widen before he is covering his face with his hands.

            “Haru,” he mumbles into his palms, and then he drops his hands, shoulders falling. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

            “Do you feel awkward?”

            “I’m not supposed to say it either!” Makoto says, exasperated, looking around the room before staring back at Haru.

            “Do you?” Haru asks again, and Makoto sighs.

            “A little, I guess. It’s okay though – ”

            “No, it’s not. I don’t like it,” Haru says, and Makoto laughs a little, lets his laugh fall into a smile.

            “Me neither, Haru-chan,” he says, gently.

            “So what do we do?” Haru demands, and Makoto’s smile grows the smallest bit.

            Haru wants to taste it, wonders if it will taste different from the parted lips the day before.

            Maybe every different configuration of Makoto’s lips has a different taste, and Haru has been collecting these smiles, knows there are millions, thinks it might be nice to collect the tastes of these smiles too, a whole new collection.

            “I don’t know,” Makoto is saying, lips moving again, a new configuration, a new taste. “We could – I mean – Did you want to…?” Makoto trails off, runs a hand through his hair, and Haru thinks about how own his hand was in this hair, his fingertips touched that same silk that now coats Makoto’s palm.

            _Kiss?_ is the end of Makoto’s unspoken question, Haru knows this easily, but not so easy is to answer it.

            _Yes,_ should be the answer, of course he wants to kiss this boy.

            But kissing him might lead to more than kissing him, and Haru feels pinpricks in his palms at the thought, his pulse ricocheting at the thought.

            “Okay,” Haru finally says, nodding. His heartbeat jumps to his lips, thuds like an earthquake under the hesitance of his reply.

            Makoto exhales with a small sound that is barely there, hardly a syllable. His hand drops from the silk of his hair.

            He turns a little to face Haru more, and just as Haru’s knee touches his, Makoto jumps up from the couch, hand back in his hair. “Haru – May I use your bathroom?” he asks, voice stilted and formal and strange and he won’t look at Haru, stares down instead.

            Haru nods, swallowing a thick cocktail of relief and disappointment that sticks deep in his throat.

            Makoto disappears, and Haru gets up, rubs his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

            He stands very still in his quiet living room, can hear the sink in the bathroom running softly.

            He breathes, thinks about what it felt like yesterday to kiss Makoto, his best friend Makoto, how it was everything, the strangest thing but the nicest thing all at once.

            He thinks about how much he wants things to go back to the ease of being near Makoto, the comfort of just Makoto, the familiarity of his best friend Makoto.

            He thinks about how it felt to have Makoto’s breath pumped through his veins, to feel Makoto’s tongue, hot and wet and against the skin of his lips and mouth.

            He stops thinking and walks to the bathroom door. It opens and Makoto steps out, sees Haru and jumps back, hits his shoulder on the doorframe.

            “Oh, Haru – Ow – ”

            “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?” Haru asks, and his voice is stronger than his heart, his tone more confident than his shaking fingers.

            Makoto’s eyes are wide, and then he’s nodding. “Yes, that’s okay,” he whispers, so Haru leans up on his toes because he wants to be level with Makoto, and he places his lips back on Makoto’s, refusing to think about it because if he thinks about it he’ll be confused again, and he doesn’t want to be confused, he just wants to be warmed from the inside out by the gasps of the boy next door.

            Makoto exhales on contact, a rush of air that falls deep into Haru’s mouth, and he leans closer, presses his lips harder, and he knows it’s his turn to move his lips first, thinking about the movies because he doesn’t want to do this wrong, but also just thinking about what feels nice, and what feels nice is MakotoMakotoMakoto, so really it’s all okay, it’s all amazing, it’s all incredible.

            When their tongues touch, this time, Makoto does not jerk back. Haru’s heart has increased to the force of crashing waves, pounds against his bones and shakes his body so that he does not feel very solid anymore, is unsure of his own frame, how he is still standing, how he is still pressing his lips against Makoto’s, thinks maybe it’s all in his head, and it would be somewhat surprising because he’s never managed to fantasize in this way about Makoto, it always makes him much too nervous, it always makes him feel much too strange – as strange as he feels now, so he’s pulling away first, falling back and hoping his legs will solidify again to catch his weight.

            They must, because Haru remains standing, wraps his arms around his waist to remind himself that he is truly solid, looks up at Makoto and sees the boy staring back at him, shoulders shaking with his breaths.

            “What do you think?” Haru asks, and he would try to hear Makoto’s voice inside his head instead of having to ask the boy himself, but his heartbeat is really much too loud for him to hear anything.

            Makoto laughs lightly. “That was – Umm – Good,” he says, words disjointed, broken and hitched at odd places to accommodate for his exhales.

            Haru nods. “Okay,” he says, and then he reaches out, grabs Makoto’s hand, and pulls him back to his living room, pushes him gently onto the couch, sits beside him. “Good?” he asks, and Makoto nods numbly, so they’re kissing again.

            There is the feeling of his pulse over every inch of his own skin, but Haru wants to feel more than that, tries to feel more than that, lifts his hands so he can feel more than that, places them on Makoto’s waist so he can feel more than that, and there is Makoto’s t-shirt, thin under shaking fingers.

            They kiss nervously. Soft lips that move slowly. Tongues that slide gently, do not probe, fall against each other’s lips and teeth and gums and tongue too lightly, but as much as Haru wants to taste this boy, he is acutely aware that this boy is his best friend.

            That they were only just kids. That he has always loved Makoto, but being _in love_ with him is new and scary and he would instantly marry the man, but to kiss him is the most frightening thing Haru has ever done, the most wonderful thing Haru has ever done.

            He slides one hand under Makoto’s t-shirt, and Makoto is making a sound against his mouth, his breath shaky, their kiss pausing to allow this shakiness until Haru pulls away, though he leaves his hand on Makoto’s skin.

            “You’re laughing,” he realizes, and then Makoto is lifting a hand to cover his mouth, laughing more, hunching over, and Haru snatches his hand back from under the thin fabric of Makoto’s t-shirt.

            He is astonished and then he is angry within two beats of his quickened heart.

            “Why are you laughing?” he demands, and Makoto shakes his head, looks up at him, cheeks pink.

            “I’m so sorry, Haru.”

            “Because I touched you.”

            “Don’t – Don’t – ” Makoto says, holding a hand up, but he drops his other hand from his lips, and he isn’t laughing anymore. “I’m sorry,” he says again, but Haru doesn’t stop glaring.

            “Why were you laughing?” he asks again, and Makoto sighs, covers his face in his hands, drops them onto his lap.

            “Because it’s you, Haru. And you’re – And we’re – It’s you, it’s Haru, we were just – We were kids, and now we’re kissing, and it’s not funny, I’m sorry, I’m just nervous because it’s you, and I don’t know how to do this – What are we doing, Haru?” Makoto asks weakly.

            Haru studies Makoto. He looks sheepish and pink-faced and wet-lipped.

            He looks ridiculously kissable.

            “We were kissing,” Haru says, voice even, and Makoto covers his face with his hands again, makes another small sound into them.

            He nods, hands still over his face, while Haru wonders what other sounds Makoto can make before stopping himself from wondering these things because he’s supposed to be mad, not flustered.

            “It’s not embarrassing to kiss me,” Haru says slowly, and Makoto’s hands drop from his face.

            “No! That’s not what I – It’s not, you’re right, it’s not,” Makoto says, almost desperately, and Haru narrows his eyes.

            “You don’t want me to touch you.”

            “That’s not – No! I do, I really do – I mean, not that I…But yeah, I do, Haru,” Makoto whispers, staring at his hands in his lap, and Haru nods, satisfied.

            He knows Makoto is nervous. Wants to take it slow.

            He understands this, had to make sure it was just this, nothing else.

            “It’s okay, Makoto,” he says, and Makoto glances up at him, just through his eyelashes, and all Haru can think is how hard the boy makes it to take things slow if he’s going to be looking up at him from underneath his eyelashes like that.

            “Haru, I – ”

            The buzzing noise of Haru’s phone stops Makoto midsentence, makes him turn from looking up at Haru from underneath his eyelashes to look at Haru’s phone on the coffee table instead, and Haru has the desire to chuck his phone into the sink. 

            Instead, he peers at it, sees that Rin has texted him.

            “Is that important?” Makoto asks, weakly.

            “No.”

            “Haru.”

            “No.”

            “Who is it?”    

            “Wrong number,” Haru replies, wants Makoto to look down at his hands on his lap again so he can look back up at him from under his eyelashes again.

            It is not often he sees Makoto through his eyelashes. There is something to be said for it.

            “You were saying something,” Haru reminds, because Makoto is just looking at him.

            “Oh. Right. Um, well – Haru, I – ”

            When Haru’s phone buzzes a second time, Haru decides he will murder Rin. Drowning seems appropriate.

            “It sounds important,” Makoto manages, rubbing the back of his neck.

            “It’s not.”

            “You could read the texts, at least.”

            “I don’t want to.”

            “They’re from Rin,” Makoto says.

            “No,” Haru replies.

            “Haru, I saw his name.”

            “You read it wrong.”

            Makoto smiles, stands up, stretches, and the thin fabric of his t-shirt rides up, exposes the skin that Haru touched, briefly, before Makoto laughed nervously onto his lips.

            “I need to get going, anyway. I promised the twins I’d help them with their homework,” Makoto says, glancing at his watch.

            Haru frowns. “Promise me you’ll stay here instead.”

            “I can’t do that.”

            “Why not?”

            “Haru,” Makoto says, but he is smiling slightly, another smile for Haru to taste – _Maybe tomorrow._

            Haru stands too, leaves his phone – buzzing again – on the table and follows Makoto to his front door, where he watches the boy he just kissed put on his sneakers like it is any other day.

            “Don’t ignore Rin,” Makoto says, straightening up.

            Haru doesn’t reply, mostly because he’s deciding.

            “What is it?” Makoto asks, and the crease between his eyebrows is too cute, makes Haru’s decision for him, so he steps forward, leans up.

            He kisses Makoto quickly, a brush of lips that burns, then steps back, looks at the wall.

            “See you,” he says, to the wall.

            Makoto does not reply for several seconds, and when he does, it is quiet, soft, falls onto Haru’s ears like mist.

            “See you tomorrow, Haru-chan.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

Rin is at the train station when Haru gets off the train.

            “Hey,” he says, and Haru nods at him.

            They walk in silence until they are out of the train station. The sun is shy, hidden behind thick clouds, peeking out only in slim rays that catch on the sleeves of their t-shirts and the laces of their sneakers.

            “How far is it?” Haru asks, peering at Rin, who rolls his eyes.

            “Not far, calm down.”

            “Is it big?”

            Rin grins, a flash of sharp teeth. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

            Haru nods, satisfied.

            They get to the pool in ten minutes, talking mostly about classes and exams, and Haru informs Rin that Rei has been putting up flyers for new members.

            “Already?”

            Haru shrugs. The school year is nearly done, and it makes sense to draw peoples’ interests before the next year starts.

            “It’ll be kind of hard, leaving the team,” Rin says, speaking of Samezuka, of course, but Haru feels the same.

            He doesn’t have a chance to voice his agreement, however, as then they are at the pool, which just opened to the public the day before – Haru wanted to come then, but Rin insisted he couldn’t get out of practice.

            It’s an indoor pool, but the walls surrounding it form a glass dome, so Haru has full view even before they enter, and he can confirm Rin’s earlier statement – He definitely likes it.

            Rin laughs. “Told you,” he says, elbowing Haru’s side. “Come on.”

            Changing is easy, since they both wear their suits under their clothes, and soon they are at the starting blocks, Rin counting down before they dive in.

            Haru agreed easily, when Rin challenged him to a race. It felt good, not to hesitate, not to worry, to be excited, even, to feel his heart pump – in a different way than recently.

            The water, as usual, is calming. Haru is not sure if it is the knowledge that the pool is new that makes him think it, but the water feels particularly fresh, as though his hands are the first to sluice it in gentle strokes, as though his skin is the first it coats, as though it has been waiting to pull him in, cooling and caressing his skin that has recently been so flushed, so electrified, so hot.

            He does not want to leave it, but this is nothing new, and when he finishes the race it is a disappointment to have to pull his head from the water and blink at Rin beside him, water dripping off his eyelashes.

            “Tie,” Rin says, and Haru nods.

            “Your time has gotten better.”

            “So has yours.”

            “Again?” Haru asks, and he knows Rin’s answer before the boy can grin.

            “You’re on, Nanase.”

            They swim until the pool is closing, and only then do they drag themselves from the water, muscles sore in the best way.

            “There’s a place to eat nearby,” Rin says, as he pulls his t-shirt over his head, and Haru nods, shaking his hair out.

            It’s not until they’ve walked to the diner, both shivering under the cool night sky, and ordered – Haru relieved to find fish sticks on the menu – that Rin voices what Haru has been somewhat waiting for him to address the entire day.

            “Ah, Haru – Can I talk to you about something?” Rin asks, using his straw to deposit drops of water onto his straw wrapper.

            Haru watches a small puddle of water pool under the white wrapper. “Sure.”

            “It’s not about swimming.”

            “Okay.”

            “Or, you know, whatever,” Rin says, weaving his fingers through his hair.

            “Okay.”

            Rin plunges his straw back into his cup, swirls around the ice in a somewhat frustrated manner.

            “It’s – You know, it’s difficult – ” he says, voice clipped, and Haru nods when Rin peeks at him from behind his wrist, as his hand is still in his hair.

            Rin sighs, rests his forehead against the inside of his wrist, closes his eyes, exhales against it.

            “Do you want me to guess?” Haru offers, and Rin’s eyes open again.

            “Absolutely not.”

            Haru falls silent, watches Rin drop his hand from his hair in a way that scatters his bangs over his eyes, so he has to raise his hand again, sweep his hair behind his ears.

            “You know, we really don’t have to talk about this,” he says, slamming his elbows on the table and waving his hand around, and Haru nods.

            “Okay.”

            “Stop saying okay,” Rin snaps.

            Haru doesn’t reply.

            “But you have to say something!”

            “I kissed my somebody,” Haru says, and Rin’s elbow falls off the table just as their food arrives.

            The waitress deposits the plates, warning that they are hot before leaving, and only then does Rin nearly launch himself at Haru, leaning too far across the table.

            “Don’t knock over your water,” Haru says, pointing to the glass that is dangerously close to Rin’s elbow.

            “What did you just say?” Rin demands.

            “Don’t knock over your water,” Haru repeats, and Rin’s bangs fall out from behind his ears.          

            “Nanase, don’t you dare fuck with me after saying something like that,” he warns.

            “Can you sit down?” Haru asks.

            Rin sits down, but points at Haru accusingly. “You’re talking about Makoto, right?” he demands, and Haru looks away from him, picks up his own glass and sips from the straw.

            He already regrets saying anything. He’s not really sure why he did. Probably because Rin was starting to look helpless again, and Haru wanted to stop his expression before it became the one he hates.

            “God – I knew it! But – That’s it? You just kissed? I figured you guys were fucking by now,” Rin says, and Haru glances at him, puts down his water.        

            “Don’t say that.”        

            Rin’s grin stretches slowly under Haru’s glare. “Why? You embarrassed?”

            “You’re being an asshole,” Haru mutters, and Rin grins only for a second more before it falls and he nods, tucking his hair behind his ears again.

            “Yeah. Sorry, Nanase.”

            Haru shrugs.

            “Really.”

            “It’s fine.”

            Rin squints at him as Haru steals a chip from Rin’s plate. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

            “I just did.”

            “But you weren’t going to.”

            “But I did.”

            “That’s not the point!”

            “What’s the point?” Haru asks, and Rin just groans.

            “Forget it, whatever! I don’t care. I mean, I do, but – Anyway, when did it happen? Let me guess. He confessed his love to you during the fireworks,” Rin says, snickering slightly, and Haru blinks at him.

            “What fireworks?”

            “I don’t know! Some fireworks,” Rin says, waving his hands around, and Haru watches them for a second before glancing back at his childhood friend, whom he often worries for, sanity-wise.

            “He doesn’t love me,” Haru says, going for nonchalance, and Rin snorts.

            “Yeah, okay.”

            “Rin.”

            “What?”

            “Stop.”

            “I’m not doing anything,” Rin objects, throwing his hands up.

            “You’re annoying me.”

            “What am I supposed to do about that?” Rin demands, and Haru sighs.

            He definitely shouldn’t have told him.

            “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. But – You know, I’m happy for you guys.”

            “I said, stop.”

            “I’m serious! I always said you guys were practically married,” Rin continues, and Haru glares until he puts his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Okay! Jeez, I won’t say anything.”

            Haru nods at his plate, but then he’s peeking back up at Rin.

            He wants to ask him, but he doesn’t know how.

            _Is it supposed to be so scary?_

            “So, uh, I know you guys are soulmates or whatever – ”

            “I’m leaving,” Haru says, standing up, but Rin grabs his wrist and pulls him back down.

            “Sit down, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My point is, was it, you know, I mean, you guys are best friends, and now you’re not – Wasn’t that a little – Was it weird?” Rin asks, wrinkling his nose the slightest bit in more of a wince than anything, but he only looks at Haru for a second before he’s back to quickly stirring his straw around his water.

            Most of the ice has melted by now, and just a few clink lightly against the glass.

            Haru blinks. “We’re still best friends.”

            Rin peeks at him. “Right. Well, yeah, sure – But I mean, you’re also not.”

            “Yes, we are,” Haru insists.

            Rin sighs. “Okay, Nanase.”

            “Rin, I’m serious.”

            “Okay! It was just a question!”

            Haru exhales slowly, examines Rin, who is resolutely staring at the few ice cubes that are left in his water. He forces himself to relax.

            It’s not Rin’s fault he’s such an asshole sometimes, Haru knows.

            “Kind of,” he offers, softly, and Rin glances at him.

            “Kind of – what?”

            Haru shrugs. “Weird,” he says, like it’s no big deal, and Rin lets go of his straw.

            “Yeah?” he asks, more eager than Haru expected.

            Haru swallows. Nods at his plate.

            “Hey. I mean – I’m sure it’ll be fine, you know, once you get used to it, or whatever. You know? This is – This is a good thing, right?”

            “Yeah,” Haru says, softly.

            “God, it’s so annoying,” Rin mutters, and Haru looks up at him, sees that Rin is no longer looking at him, but out the window next to their booth.

            “What?” Haru asks, peeking out the window, but all he sees is black sky.

            “Why did it have to be them, you know? Could’ve just been a freaking stranger on the street, but no, it has to be them. Makes it so freaking difficult,” Rin mumbles, and Haru watches him curiously.

            “Are you talking about your somebody?” he asks, and Rin whips around to glare at him, points at him on top of the glare.

            “I swear, Nanase, don’t you dare call him that.”

            Haru takes another sip of water, waits for Rin to simmer down.

            “And no, I’m not,” Rin continues, pointedly. “I’m just saying in general. It’s annoying. I’m annoyed.”

            “I noticed.”

            “Shut up.”

            They eat the rest of the meal in silence, talking only of food, and then, of course, swimming.

            Even though Samezuka is just a few blocks from the diner, Rin walks Haru back to the train station, and they step slowly through the night.

            “You wanted to talk,” Haru says, gently, because the dark is too loud to try and interrupt.

            He can feel Rin looking at him, and glances over.

            “About what?” Rin asks.

            “At the diner. Before…”

            “Oh. Yeah. Right. It’s nothing.”

            Haru nods, looks away from him.

            “You don’t regret it, do you? Even though it’s kind of weird?” Rin asks, as Haru watches the road in front of them.

            He thinks about the kisses. The awkwardness. The comfort that he misses so much, the way Makoto’s strip of skin felt on his fingertips, under the thin fabric of Makoto’s t-shirt.

            How things will never be the same.

            How this is the worst thing, the very best thing.

            “No,” he says. “I don’t regret it.”

            Rin’s exhale is audible, just bordering on a sigh but not quite making it. “How did you do it, Haru? I mean – God, I don’t know how to – What the hell can I say?”

            Haru lifts his chin, searches for a star in the sky but cannot find one.

            “I don’t think it matters. I said the wrong thing, but it still worked out,” Haru replies, and he glances at Rin now, his pale profile broken by the strands of his hair that are loose again, blowing gently across his cheeks.

            Rin shakes his head. “That’s some awful advice, Nanase,” he breathes, laughing, and Haru looks away from him.

            He is irrationally happy, at that moment.

            They reach the train station, and Haru is about to say bye when Rin elbows his arm.

            “I know you and Makoto are still best friends. Sorry I said that.”

            Haru blinks at him.

            “It’s just – I do think it’ll stop being weird and get back to, you know, whatever. I mean, obviously. But – You’ve always been creepily close, and I don’t think that’ll change. Even if it feels like it now. That’s all I mean,” Rin mutters.

            “Rin…”

            “I’ll see you, Haru. Text when you get back, will you, don’t fucking sleep on the train and miss your stop,” Rin says, stepping back and waving before turning and walking away.

            Haru watches him for a moment, then turns and boards his train, but by the time he has found a seat at the very back and looked out the window, Rin is out of sight.

*

The mirror reflects the image of Haru peeling off his t-shirt.

            He stares at his torso. The muscles and bones that pull at the pale skin – starting from collarbones at the top, a hard chest, defined abs, the v that dips into the band of his boxers.

            He is not sure, but he thinks this might be some definition of sexy.

            Definitely not laughable.

            Sure, the boy next door has seen the image in the mirror countless times, but that doesn’t mean anything.

            Haru has dove into water countless times, and it still calms him.

            He has collected countless smiles from Makoto, and he still craves more.

            Haru touches the skin over his stomach, feels the warmth of his torso and the cool of his fingertips at once.

            His fingers trail down to the waistband of his boxers, but he does not dip them underneath, does not pull this last article of clothing off.

            Makoto wants to take things slow.

            There is no need to worry about that yet.

*

In the library, Haru thinks he might fall asleep.

            He rests his cheek on his folded arm on the table, looks at Makoto beside him from this sideways view.

            Makoto is wearing his glasses. He chews on the end of his pencil, and his large shoulders are hunched as he hovers over his notebook, pencil-free fingers weaved into his hair. His glasses have slipped a little down his nose.

            _Adorable._

            Haru has no desire to close his eyes. Maybe he can nap with his eyes open. With this image of Makoto concentrating so easily blurring into a dream.

            His eyelids are heavy. A window is open behind the table they sit at, but there is no breeze offered, and if anything, the sunlight allowed to stream in to their corner behind the bookshelves makes it only warmer.

            Haru pulls on his tie with the hand his head isn’t resting on.

            Makoto stops chewing his pencil, drops it on his notebook and uses his free hand to pull on his own tie gently.

            It makes Haru want to smile, a little, so he presses his lips into his arm, peeks at Makoto now only from the corners of his eyes.

            “Haru-chan,” Makoto says softly, and the sound is nearly identical to the rustle of pages, so Haru isn’t really sure if he imagined it or not, isn’t really sure if he’s dreaming or not.

            Just in case he is, he doesn’t reply, but he watches Makoto’s lips more carefully, sees that they are moving even though the boy doesn’t look away from his notebook.

            “I can’t concentrate when you’re staring at me,” Makoto whispers, to his notebook.

            Haru bites the inside of his cheek.

            “You’re still doing it,” Makoto says, even though he has not turned his head.

            Haru shifts so that his lips are free from his arm.

            “I know,” he says, and Makoto’s lips twitch.

            He moves his fingers from the silk of his hair down to his neck, cups his neck with his palm, turns to look at Haru, finally, just a quick peek through his glasses before he’s looking back at his notebook.

            “Okay,” Makoto says, and he moves his hand to pick up his pencil again.

            Haru beats him to it. Reaches out with his own free hand, laces his fingers through Makoto’s without really letting himself think about it.

            He doesn’t know if it’s okay to hold hands.

            But it feels nice.

            Makoto exhales softly, and Haru can see his eyes slide to look at their hands, then slide back to the pages of his notebook.

            Haru doesn’t move his fingers, and Makoto doesn’t move his. Their hands sit quietly together on top of the table between Makoto’s notebook and the arm on which Haru rests his cheek.

            Haru closes his eyes now. He doesn’t mind it so much because even though he can no longer see Makoto, he can feel him, the gentle warmth of him, the small weight of his fingers, how they fall onto his with the kiss of gravity.

            He doesn’t fall asleep, though several minutes have passed before Makoto’s voice is back, even more quietly than before.

            “Haru-chan.”

            Haru opens his eyes. Makoto still isn’t looking at him.

            “I can’t write when you’re holding my hand,” Makoto admits, words soft as the breeze the sky is refusing to offer through the window today.

            Haru bites his cheek again, just until he knows he won’t smile.

            “I know,” he replies.

            Makoto’s lips turn up fully now, his cheeks turn the lightest pink that shouldn’t even be called pink, there is no word for this lovely color.

            “Okay,” Makoto says again, to his notebook, and neither boy moves his hand from the other.

            The sunlight paints the silk of Makoto’s hair golden.

*

The door is closed even though none of Makoto’s family members are home, and both boys sit across from each other on Makoto’s bed.

            Haru doesn’t remember whose idea it was to sit on the bed.

            There is something acutely noticeable about the fact that it is a bed.

            “We should try taking off our shirts,” Haru proposes.

            Makoto’s fingers fumble on the fabric of his t-shirt, which is striped red and grey today.

            “If you want,” he says softly.

            “Do you want to?” Haru asks, leaning forward the smallest bit.

            Makoto looks away from him, at his pillow. “Yeah,” he whispers, then clears his throat, lets go of his shirt to run a hand through his hair. “Yes, I do, Haru.”

            Haru nods, satisfied, then remembers. “You can’t laugh,” he warns, and Makoto looks at him, smiles lightly.

            “Okay.”

            “Promise.”

            “I promise.”

            Haru nods again. Stares at Makoto, who stares back.

            “On the count of – ” Makoto starts, but Haru doesn’t want to count.

            He reaches back, grasps the fabric of his t-shirt, and pulls it over his head, shaking his hair out as he tosses it on Makoto’s comforter beside him.

            He blinks up at Makoto, who has his t-shirt over his head by now, and then it’s off too, placed on top of Haru’s.

            Of course, Haru has seen Makoto shirtless before. It’s nothing, and Haru stares, waiting for his pulse to quicken – but it doesn’t.

            “Come closer,” Haru orders, and Makoto blinks at him for a second before scooching forward until they’re bumping knees again.

            Haru wants Makoto’s body to have an effect on him. He has seen it so many times before, but there is so much he has not done to it, so Haru reaches out, presses his palm against the flatness of Makoto’s abs.

            “Ah – ” Makoto gasps, flinching slightly, and Haru glances up at him.

            Makoto winces gently.

            “Your hand is cold,” he whispers.

            Haru looks back at Makoto’s bare torso. His skin is warm, so Haru moves his hand slowly, just a few inches up before he notices Makoto’s shoulders shaking once, and again looks up at his friend’s expression.

            “Makoto,” he warns.

            “I’m not laughing,” Makoto says, voice hitching as he says it, and then he’s biting his bottom lip, teeth digging hard into the pink, but his smile still spreads around it.

            “You said you wouldn’t.”

            “I’m – ” Makoto starts, but then he’s shaking his head, accidentally lets out a syllable of muffled laughter, and Haru is snatching his hand back, grabbing his t-shirt, nearly off the bed – “Haru – Wait!”

            “I’m serious,” Haru snaps, attempting to pull his wrist from Makoto’s grasp, succeeding in his attempt, stepping off the bed and walking towards the closed door.

            “I am, too,” Makoto says weakly, and again his hand is around Haru’s wrist, so Haru turns to see that Makoto has gotten off his bed too.

            “This is not funny to me, Makoto,” Haru says, around the angry beats of his heart.

            He wants his wrist back, and tugs it again to free it, but Makoto’s fingers are tight, close tighter.

            Makoto doesn’t say anything. Just looks at Haru, and he is not laughing now, he is not smiling now, Haru doesn’t know what he is thinking because he has never seen Makoto look at him the way Makoto does now.

            “Makoto, let go – ” Haru starts, but Makoto does the opposite, does not say, _Okay, Haru_ , for once, instead pulls Haru roughly, surprising him, jerking him off balance so that he’s forced to take a step forward and then he’s spinning around, falling backwards and caught by the edge of the bed, onto which he lands on his back.

            “Did I hurt you?” Makoto asks, because the boy is leaning over him, very close to him, and Haru blinks up, observes that his wrist is free now but his body is not, as Makoto’s hands are flat against the mattress on either side of his shoulders.

            “No,” Haru breathes, and Makoto nods.

            “Scooch up further onto the bed,” Makoto says, nodding once more, so Haru does as he is told, pressing his hands against the mattress and pulling his body so that his legs no longer dangle over the edge of the bed, and he is lying flat on his back.

            Makoto follows him, hovers over him now on his hands and knees.

            Haru wants to say something, but he isn’t sure what because his heart is beating too loudly for him to hear his own thoughts.

            Makoto lifts one hand from the mattress, and Haru can feel when Makoto presses his thumb against his lips.

            Makoto’s thumb slides over his top lip, and Haru gasps around it, feels it slide halfway over his bottom lip before speaking, mouth moving under Makoto’s fingerprint.

            “Makoto – ”

            “Is this okay?” Makoto murmurs, and Haru attempts to find coherence in his thoughts.

            “What are you doing?” he breathes, as Makoto looks down at him through a heavy-lidded gaze Haru isn’t familiar with.

            “I’ve never touched your lips before,” Makoto says, and Haru exhales onto Makoto’s skin.

            He wants to touch Makoto’s lips too, but he can’t seem to move his arms.

            “Can I kiss you, Haru?” Makoto asks, leaning closer, thumb still on his bottom lip but not moving now.

            “You don’t have to ask before you do everything,” Haru murmurs, but then Makoto is replacing his thumb with his lips, and they are kissing.

            Haru is not sure if it is his own pulse he feels against his lips, or Makoto’s, but whosever it is races, surely much too quickly than is healthy.

            Haru is surprised by the softness of the kiss. 

            _I’m not delicate_ , he wants to tell Makoto, but speaking would require freeing his lips, and he has no desire to do that.

            _Break me,_ he wants to tell Makoto, but whispering would require a good amount of thought, and he has no capability to manage that.

            Makoto, however, is clearly more able to function, and he pulls up from Haru’s lips even before Haru can get the nerve to taste him.

            “Can I touch you, Haru?” Makoto asks, onto Haru’s lips, and Haru blinks up at him, is amazed by him – _Is this the boy who was just giggling around his bitten lip?_

            _You don’t have to ask,_ Haru thinks, but really, he likes it, wants to hear all of Makoto’s thoughts, everything that he is wondering – _What else do you want to do to me, Makoto?_

_I’ll let you._

_I’ll let you._

_Tell me, and I’ll let you._

            He manages to nod, and Makoto’s hand is on his chest; he shudders at the cool of it, presses himself deeper into the mattress but is so glad that Makoto’s hand follows him.

            Makoto’s palm burns a trail of heat as it trickles down to Haru’s navel, seems to slide down Haru’s side, falls around his waist.

            He is branded by Makoto’s fingertips, but cannot think too much about what the scars might look like, because Makoto is kissing him again, and this time, Haru resolves to taste him before he can move away again, is opening his mouth wider, is reminding himself to inhale, is forgetting to exhale, is just about to touch his tongue to Makoto’s lips, but then the boy is off him again, and Haru opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing.

            He tries to glare but doesn’t think he succeeds much in the attempt.

            “Stop moving – ”

            “I am very serious, Haru,” Makoto interrupts, voice quiet but hard, and the rest of Haru’s reprimand catches on his tongue.

            He blinks, manages to nod.

            _Yes,_ Haru thinks. _I can see that._

            “Ask me if you can kiss me again,” Haru murmurs instead, and Makoto smiles a brilliant smile that Haru is desperate to taste.

            “Can I kiss you again, Haru-chan?” Makoto asks.

            Haru forgets to answer in his haste to kiss the boy, but he figures it’s okay –Makoto could always read his mind anyway.

*

“Were you doing jumping jacks?”

            Haru places his glass of water on the table and glances at Ran.

            “What?” Makoto asks, beside him.

            “When we got home,” Ren explains, while Ran nods along, “you came out of your room all sweaty and with your faces all red, so were you doing jumping jacks?”

            Haru bites the inside of his cheek and looks at Makoto, whose shoulders have gone stiff under the white shirt he is now wearing, mostly because Haru grabbed Makoto’s red and grey striped t-shirt and pulled it on when they heard the rest of the Tachibanas returning.

            Taking his t-shirt was not an accident, and Haru thinks Makoto might know this.

            Makoto’s lips are open, but he is not saying anything, so Haru elbows him gently.

            “Um,” Makoto says, weakly, so Haru turns to the twins.

            “We were not doing jumping jacks,” he supplies.

            Makoto’s t-shirt is big on him, the short sleeves nearly grazing his elbows.

            He swims in it, but Haru has always loved to swim.

            “What were you doing then?” Ran demands.

            “Can we join?” Ren adds on.

            Makoto makes a strange sound next to Haru, who smiles lightly at the twins.

            “We can play wheelbarrow after dinner instead,” he suggests, and the twins nod vigorously, are so excited they attempt to claim they’re done with dinner already, and have to be chastised by their parents to finish the broccoli still hiding in the corners of their plates.

            “You okay?” Haru whispers, to Makoto, who still sits rigidly beside him.

            Makoto glances at him, and Haru watches his shoulders fall as he relaxes, as he smiles and tilts his head.

            “I’m always okay when Haru’s here,” he says, like it’s okay to say such things just like that, and it’s Haru’s turn to open his lips and be unable to speak despite it.

            Makoto laughs gently, then turns back to his dinner, but it is much harder for Haru to look away from Makoto, and he only does so a minute or so later, after his heart has finally returned from his throat to his chest.

*

Beside Haru, Makoto peels off his swimsuit.

            The door of Haru’s locker is cool against his fingers. The locker room smells like a mix of sunscreen, chlorine, and strawberry shampoo – courtesy of Nagisa, who bought the entire team the same shampoo he uses, saying if their hair smelled the same, they’d be united and more in-synch in their relays.

            Nobody attempted to argue but Rei, who still does not seem to understand the futility of arguing with Nagisa, or perhaps he just enjoys it.

            Haru is beginning to suspect the latter.

            Rei and Nagisa are arguing currently, at their lockers a few feet away from Haru and Makoto’s, but Haru cannot quite concentrate on today’s topic of debate because Makoto is naked.

            Haru has seen Makoto naked before, as their lockers have always been beside each other.

            There is something different today, though, and it may be what Makoto whispers into his locker when he wraps his towel around his waist.

            “Please don’t look at me, Haru.”

            Haru blinks. Does not look away.

            “Why not?” he asks, and he can see the way Makoto’s blush spreads from his cheeks down his neck.

            Makoto struggles to open his deodorant, refuses to look at him.

            “Haru,” he breathes, manages to open his deodorant, stretches his arms up to apply it, and Haru watches the line of his body, wishes his towel would fall off.

            He is completely frightened of naked Makoto, completely intoxicated by the thought of it, but there is no pressure with naked Makoto in the locker room because they cannot do anything in the locker room.

            “I have to take off my towel,” Makoto murmurs, bending down to pick up his boxers, and Haru looks at the skin of his back, remembers touching the skin of this back, only barely, just briefly, before the rest of the Tachibanas came home the day before, and Haru was so absurdly relieved.

            “I know,” Haru says.

            Haru does not expect Makoto to look at him. He does not expect to feel electrified when Makoto turns, stares at him, does not look away, and then he is unwrapping his towel, letting it fall to the locker room floor as he faces Haru, and Haru feels his own face burning, notes that Makoto is not blushing anymore – and this is not fair, this is not fair at all.

            Haru swallows.

            Makoto pulls on his boxers.

            A locker slams – Nagisa’s probably – and Makoto stops looking at Haru, so Haru closes his eyes, grasps more tightly onto his locker door.

            The cool of the metal has long since warmed against his fingers.

*

Nagisa and Rei leave, both offering different excuses that seem strange to Haru, but he cannot quite place why – maybe it had something to do with Rei’s blush, or what Haru could swear was a wink offered to Rei by Nagisa, although he may have imagined this.

            Haru does not have much time to wonder what exactly is going on, as Rin distracts him, hitting him on the arm with his Wii remote.

            “Hey, pay attention, we’re not losing another race,” Rin snaps, and Haru blinks at him, focuses again on their game of Super Mario Cart.

            It is just him and Rin versus Sousuke and Makoto now. Rei and Nagisa won each race before they left, and even though they are gone now, Haru does not have much hope for him and Rin to secure a victory.

            They have been consistently placing last so far, after all.

            “Makoto is too good. Let’s play another game,” Haru says, because it’s true.

            Makoto has always dominated at this game.

            Makoto smiles gently. “That’s not true, Haru-chan. I’m not that good.”

            His humility makes it worse, and Haru narrows his eyes at Makoto until the smile falters.

            “No! We can’t play a different game until we win against these cheating bastards,” Rin announces, leaning forward on the couch where he sits between Haru and Makoto, controller grasped tightly in his hands.

            He has tied his hair into a ponytail, and Sousuke reaches around Makoto’s back, tugs it lightly.

            “Calm down over there, it’s just a game,” he says, but of course, Rin is only more incensed, immediately jumps up and nearly climbs over Makoto to retaliate, but Haru reaches out and pulls him back down onto the couch cushion by his sleeve.

            “Focus,” he reminds, and Rin glances at him, nods gravely.

            “You’re right. I’m good, I’m good.”

            They start their fourteenth race, and the best Haru can say is that it is over quickly.

            Rin throws his remote to the floor and gets up, stalking to the kitchen while Sousuke shouts in victory.

            With Rin gone from between them, Haru has a clear view to glare fully at Makoto, who grins and holds out his hand.

            “Good game, Haru-chan,” he says, but Haru refuses to shake his hand out of principle.

            “You know what,” Rin explodes, announcing his quick return from the kitchen and leaning over the back of the couch between Haru and Makoto, “go ahead, relish in your cheap victory. This is the only race you’ll ever win against us, so you’d better celebrate!”

            “You know, Rin, there is such a thing as being too competitive,” Sousuke points out mildly.

            “Shut up!” Rin shouts, stalking away again.

            Haru gets up to console his teammate as Sousuke asks Makoto how he managed that spectacular sharp right turn on the last lap.

            In the kitchen, Rin is chugging water, and slams the empty bottle down on the counter on Haru’s arrival.

            “This isn’t over,” he says, pointing at Haru.

            “Stop being crazy,” Haru replies, and Rin crushes the bottle in his grasp in a dramatic crinkle of plastic.

            “I’m not – ” Rin starts, shouting, but then he seems to notice he’s shouting, and quickly deflates, blinking and releasing the crushed water bottle. “Anyway,” he says, much more calmly now, “things don’t seem too awkward between – ”

            “Don’t,” Haru snaps, and Rin raises his eyebrows.

            “Just saying. What base have you – ”

            “I’m never telling you anything again,” Haru says, completely serious, and Rin’s expression switches immediately from amused to distraught.

            “No, Haru, wait, I’m sorry! Forget I said anything, come on, you have to tell me – ”

            “No.”

            “Haru!”

            “We’re done,” Haru says, and he turns to walk away, feels Rin tugging the back of his shirt.

            “Haru!” he moans, but Haru escapes from his grasp, walks away from him and back to the living room.

            “What’s wrong with Rin? Other than being a sore loser?” Sousuke asks, peering over the couch at Rin.

            “We’re not friends anymore,” Haru explains calmly.

            “Haru!” Rin shouts, miserably, and Sousuke laughs.

            “Ah, I see. Yeah, that’s a good idea, Haru, I’ve been trying to drop that guy for years.”

            “Dammit, Yamazaki!” Rin yells.

            “Guys, that’s not funny,” Makoto says, weakly.

            “Yes, it is,” Sousuke replies.

            Haru sits back on the couch, this time right next to Makoto, lets their shoulders brush, which seems to distract Makoto from chastising Sousuke further.

            “Good game, Makoto,” Haru says softly, holding out his hand as Makoto did before because he’s regretting giving up the chance to feel Makoto’s palm in his.

            As Rin and Sousuke yell at each other beside them, Makoto blinks at Haru, takes his hand, but they do not shake their hands, just let their fingers wrap around each other.

            “Thank you, Haru-chan,” Makoto replies, and when he looks at Haru like this, Haru does not even bother thinking so long into the future as tomorrow.

            He simply cannot wait for Rin and Sousuke to leave.

*

“Do you think we should have had sex by now?” Haru asks, to the top of Makoto’s hair that is visible above his laptop from Haru’s vantage point.

            Makoto stops typing, peers around his laptop at Haru.

            They are on Haru’s bed, but they are not having sex. Makoto is sitting against the headboard, writing some essay, while Haru lies on his back, staring up at his ceiling and occasionally Makoto’s socked feet, which are right beside his head.

            He has been prodding Makoto’s side with his own feet every couple minutes out of boredom, but the boy has not responded, and Haru does not like being ignored.

            His dislike for being ignored – especially by Makoto – is only egged on by his genuine curiosity. On some level, he thinks he and Makoto may be taking things _too_ slowly.

            Surely, they should have had sex by now – Right?

            “Haru!” Makoto is saying, closing his laptop and drawing his knees into his chest. He wraps his arms around them, and Haru props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at this boy he has not yet had sex with.

            “Don’t you think?” Haru asks, because Makoto hasn’t answered him.

            “It hasn’t, umm, been that long – really – ”

            “We’ve known each other forever,” Haru reminds, and Makoto ducks his face behind his legs, resting his forehead on his knees.

            “I wouldn’t say forever,” Makoto mumbles, almost incoherently into his knees, and Haru sits up, crawls on his knees until he is beside Makoto.

            “So you don’t want to have sex?” Haru asks, waiting for Makoto to look at him.

            It’s okay, he realizes, if Makoto does not want to have sex with him. Haru himself isn’t even sure if he wants to have sex with Makoto.

            No, that’s not true.

            Of course he does, of course he does, of course he does.

            He loves Makoto, he really does, so of course he wants to have sex with him. That’s what it said in the movies he used for research, and he needs to do this right.

            This is Makoto, and he deserves love done right. This is not something that comes easily, like swimming. This is not something Haru is slightly apathetic towards, like schoolwork.

            This is Makoto. This is everything.

            Makoto glances at him, peeks through the bangs that have fallen over his forehead, doesn’t completely lift his forehead from his knees as he blinks at Haru through eyelashes that Haru has touched, felt with the very tip of his finger while Makoto blushed and smiled so nervously with Haru-stained lips.

            “Haru, I – There’s something I – Are we – ?” Makoto asks, voice falling quieter and quieter until there is nothing but parted lips and an expression Haru cannot read.

            As amazing as it is to kiss this boy, Haru still cannot stand the sudden appearance of expressions he cannot read, the sudden onslaught of thoughts he does not know.

            “What?” Haru asks, hating that he has to, and Makoto looks away from him, lifts his forehead from his knees but only so that he can turn fully away, look in the direction of Haru’s window, and Haru wants to know what he sees out there.

            Is it the same sky Haru sees? Or have they even lost this small measure of sameness, this last common thing they shared.

            “It’s okay, Haru,” Makoto says, quietly, to the window, but then he’s turning back, offering Haru a small smile that Haru knows, though he is not relieved to see it.

            It’s the _It’s okay, Haru_ smile, the one meant to put Haru at ease, the one offered by Makoto because Makoto is always comforting him, making it so easy to love him because he is always okay, everything is always okay, even when it’s not, Haru does not have to worry.

            But he does. He wants to worry about this boy he loves so much, and he does, and no amount of _It’s okay, Haru’s_ can change that.

            “If you want to say no, you should just say no,” Haru says, a little angry with Makoto, stupid Makoto, lovely Makoto.

            “I don’t want to say no,” Makoto says, just as softly, somewhat sadly, and Haru tries to understand what this boy is thinking, but cannot, he absolutely hates that he cannot.

            _What do you want to say?_

            _Why can’t I tell anymore, what you want to say?_

            “But you don’t want to say yes,” Haru says, narrowing his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

            He’s not angry with Makoto for being unsure. He’s angry because he doesn’t know why, and Makoto won’t tell him, and not knowing is not okay because this is Makoto and Haru always knows, he always knows, he needs to know or he does not know anything, he is lost, he is so confused, and it hurts. 

            “It’s not that,” Makoto murmurs.

            “Then what is it?” Haru demands.

             Makoto looks at him for a moment, then shakes his head, picks up his laptop. “Nothing. I should go, I have to get this done.”

            Haru wants to yell at him, but also, for the very first time in his life, he does not want to be near him. He feels sick and wrong, his stomach twisted, his skin hot, and this isn’t right, this isn’t Makoto, this isn’t the tomorrow he’s been waiting for.

            So he says nothing, and Makoto goes.

*

_yo can we talk?_

            The sand is hot, burns Haru’s feet as he walks, but he does not quicken his step, likes the way he can feel his skin reddening, the unexpected prick of the sand that is still so soft, so deceiving.

            Rin walks between him and the ocean, on the sand that has been kissed by the waves and is cooler because of it. Water sometimes rises far enough to tickle Rin’s feet, but it does not get so far as to reach Haru, and there is some satisfaction in this, in the ocean being so huge and so close and Haru not feeling a drop of it on his skin.

            The sky is a blend of the waves and the sand, a rich ocean blue streaked with sunlight the color of the shore, and it’s dizzying, to be surrounded on all sides by the beach, so Haru looks only at his feet with each step.

            “I had something to tell you, but – Haru, is there something wrong?” Rin asks, the first words spoken since Rin met him on the beach and they began walking.

            Haru glances back, wondering where their footsteps start, and sees that one trail of footsteps – his own – is all that has survived the pull of the tide, and continues back longer than his eye can trace.

            He looks at Rin, who’s watching him.

            “I guess,” he says, and Rin squints at him for a moment before looking at the sky.

            “Is it…Makoto?” he asks the sky.

            “Yeah,” Haru says.

            Another step, another burn. He presses his feet deeper in the sand with each step, feels it pool around the sides, is glad for the rising pinch of heat.

            “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Rin asks.

            “I don’t know what happened,” Haru replies, before he realizes that it is odd for Rin to even be asking such a thing – usually he would demand to know, act as if it were his right to have this information.

            He peers at Rin now, his sun-stained profile, remembers that it was Rin who wanted to talk in the first place.

            “Well, you know Makoto. He’s weird about stuff,” Rin says, glancing at Haru again, offering a shrug.

            “That’s the problem.”

            “That he’s weird about stuff? Cause you’re pretty weird yourself, just saying,” Rin points out, eyebrows creasing.

            “No. That I know Makoto.”

            “That’s a problem?” Rin asks, running a hand through his hair.

            Haru steps on something sharp – maybe a shell – but he doesn’t look down, lets his skin mold around it, continues his slow steps and looks away from Rin at the ocean behind him.

            “I don’t think I know him anymore,” Haru admits, quietly, so quietly the waves swallow his reply, snatch the words right out of his mouth and pull them down into the depth of the ocean along with Rin’s footprints.

            “What?” Rin asks, and he stops walking, turns to face Haru, so Haru stops walking too, and the heat of the sand continues to seep into his skin without pause.

            Haru has to look to the side now, to see the ocean around Rin’s body, and watches the waves peek around Rin’s elbow.

            “I don’t know him,” he says again, trying to be louder, knowing the ocean will try to steal his words again, and he doesn’t know if he can say this a third time.

            “You don’t – know him? Is that what you said?” Rin asks, leaning closer, and the heat on the soles of Haru’s feet is unbearable now, but he does not move.

            Except to nod, once.

            “What are you talking about? You can read the guy’s mind,” Rin says, throwing his hands in the air, and Haru blinks quickly, his eyes burning, but not quite as much as his feet.

            “I don’t know what he’s thinking anymore,” Haru manages to say, but it hurts to admit it, he wants the ocean to steal his words again, to bury them deep in its crashing waves.

            “Oh. Oh,” Rin says, and Haru looks away from the ocean to see his expression, but Rin has never been as easy to read as Makoto once was, and now Haru does not know what he’s thinking either. “I’m sorry, Haru. I mean – You could talk to him, like a normal person.”

            Haru turns away again, somewhat because he’s annoyed, but mostly because Rin has heaved a sigh and they are walking again, and Haru thinks the pain in his feet is much less than before. He wonders if it is because the sand has gotten cooler or because he has become used to it.

            “I tried,” Haru says, and Rin sighs again.

            “Give the guy a break. Talking to you is never easy.”

            “Yes, it is.”

            “No, trust me, it’s not. It’s like pulling teeth, I swear,” Rin mutters, and Haru glares at him.

            “Makoto is the one who wouldn’t talk to me,” he snaps, and Rin glances at him, raises his hands.

            “Okay, okay! Look – Some things are hard to say, right? So, maybe it’s like that for Makoto, you know?”

            “He can say anything to me,” Haru insists, because he can – They are Haru-and-Makoto, they are Makoto-and-Haru, their voices live as much in each other’s heads as their own, and that is how it’s supposed to be, kissing and more-than-kissing wasn’t supposed to change that.

            “Maybe he can’t.”

            “You don’t understand, Rin.”

            “No, you don’t understand, Haru!” Rin shouts, and Haru is surprised, is the one to stop first this time, to dig his feet in the cooling sand. Rin weaves his fingers through his hair, lets them fall, and his hands slap his sides. “I know you’re used to it being easy, but you decided to change all that.”

            “I didn’t – ”

            “Will you just listen for a second, Nanase? Jeez, you’re so freaking stubborn. Kissing the guy changes things. You had to know that. Even you’re not that thick-headed.”

            Haru doesn’t reply. He thought he wanted to change, he thought he wanted tomorrow, but he has never missed yesterday so much.

            “Wait, I’ve got it, so how about this, I’ll say it in terms you’ll get, right?” Rin says, looking somewhat excited now, and Haru watches him warily. “So it’s like a relay. Say you start off, right? And it’s what you know, you’re swimming, it’s all under control – that was like you guys for all your life. But then there’s that transition, that split second when you hit the side of the pool and the next person has to jump in. That’s where you are right now.”

            “Rin, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haru interrupts, mildly.

            “Will you let me finish! Okay, so when you’re the one swimming, it’s easy. Comfortable, right?” Rin pauses, and Haru knows Rin wants him to nod.

            Haru doesn’t nod. He stares at Rin until the boy’s expectant glance withers.

            “Whatever, you know I’m right,” Rin finally continues. “But when your teammates swim, that’s not you alone in the race anymore. You’re not in control. You’ve got to trust that everything will be okay, but you really don’t because it’s unknown territory. But then – it gets easier. You realize these are your friends, people who care about you, who won’t let you down, and you trust them, and it’s easy again – not just that, it’s even better than when it was just you swimming. Right? Get it? It’s perfect, right?”

            “Matsuoka, do you even hear the shit that comes out of your mouth?” Haru sighs, shaking his head.

            “Goddammit, that was good, Nanase! Look, I’m talking about going between two different phases. One that you’re comfortable with, that you’ve known all your life, and one that is not so familiar, but maybe it’s better, Haru, maybe it’s so much more amazing, but you’ve got to get through that split second where you don’t know what’s going to happen, where it’s kind of scary and awful,” Rin says, and Haru stares at him.

            There’s some sense in it, maybe, but just a little, and even so, there’s a gaping hole in Rin’s explanation. “It’s been longer than a split second,” he points out, and Rin just rolls his eyes.

            “That’s because a relay is a couple minutes, but this is your entire life, Haru. You have to think of it all relatively, you know? Jeez, you suck at analogies, do you even pay attention in class?” Rin is asking, shaking his head.

            Haru stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What about you, then?”

            “What about me?”

            “You’re the one who wanted to talk,” Haru reminds him, because he doesn’t want to talk about himself and Makoto anymore, he doesn’t want to think about it anymore, maybe he wasn’t supposed to stop swimming, maybe the relay wasn’t a good idea.

            “Oh. Well.”

            “Well what, Matsuoka?” Haru demands.

            “Give me a second, Nanase!” Rin snaps.

            Haru takes his hands from his pockets, crosses his arms over his chest, cannot help but be relieved for Rin’s constant ridiculousness because at least it’s somewhat distracting.

            “Ah, jeez,” Rin mutters, and he kicks the wet sand he stands on with his toes. “So, I told Sousuke,” he mumbles, waving his hand in front of him awkwardly.

            “Told Sousuke what?” Haru asks, just because Rin is annoying and deserves it, and Rin glares in response.

            “Shut up, Nanase.”

            “What did I say?”

            “Do you want to know what happened or what?” Rin grumbles, and Haru thinks about teasing him more, but decides against it.

            He stays silent, nods once at Rin in encouragement, and the glare softens until Rin’s smiling slightly, then biting his bottom lip with his too-sharp teeth.

            “Okay, well, I didn’t, you know, come out and confess like a complete idiot. But – Yeah, he knows, and he – uhh – We’re – Yeah…” Rin trails off, with more kicks in the sand and hands weaving through his hair then crossing over his chest only to unravel into more awkward gestures.

            “You didn’t really say anything just now, you know,” Haru notes, and Rin glares up at him with pink cheeks.

            “Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Rin shouts, and then he’s stalking off, so Haru has no choice but to follow, catching up and elbowing Rin’s side.

            “Hey, Rin.”

            “What?” Rin bites, still walking too fast.

            “I’m happy for you.”

            Rin stops walking, grins a sheepish grin, then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, we’re ridiculous, aren’t we?”

            Haru shrugs.

            The sky is darker now, but so is the ocean, and so is the sand, cold now under Haru’s feet.

*

“Haru.”

            “What?”

            “You’re staring at me,” Makoto says, and Haru inhales, smells something burning, hears popping sounds coming from the pan behind him and realizes he has burned his breakfast.

            “You’re staring at me too,” Haru notes, and Makoto blinks, looks somewhat surprised.

            “Oh. Sorry,” he says, and he looks away, so Haru is free to look away too, pivots and turns off the stove.

            Haru slides his burnt mackerel onto a plate. He pokes it once with a fork, then takes a bite.

            It is charred and crispy and dissolves on his tongue.

            He peeks at Makoto, who is staring at his hands on Haru’s kitchen counter. He has not taken off his backpack.

            Haru slips the rest of the mackerel in the trash, grabs his own backpack, and he and Makoto put on their shoes in silence before making the usual walk to school, neither pointing out that their everyday routine feels anything but normal.

*

During practice, Nagisa requests a race between the eldest members of the team.

            “No,” Haru says, before resubmerging in the water, swimming down to the very bottom, trailing his fingertips on the smooth concrete before letting himself drift up so he can freestyle on the surface.

            He swims several lengths, but when he surfaces, Nagisa has not been deterred.

            “Yes!” Nagisa shouts, as Haru lifts his head from the water.

            Haru glares at him. “No.”

            “Nagisa-kun…” Rei murmurs, but Nagisa just waves a hand at him.

            “It’s important!”

            “What’s important?” Makoto asks, surfacing in the lane beside Haru and peering up at Nagisa, who crouches at the edge of the pool.

            “You and Haru-chan need to race,” Nagisa explains.

            “Why?” Makoto asks, peeking at Haru, who does not hide his stare.

            “Because it’s important!” Nagisa declares again, while Rei pulls too hard on the elastic of his goggles and lets go.

            “Ow!”

            “Are you all right, Rei?” Makoto is asking, while Haru turns to submerge again, but there is a hand around his wrist, and he glances back, sees Nagisa holding onto him.

            “Let go, Nagisa.”

            “No can do, Haru-chan. Until you agree on a race.”

            “I don’t want to race.”

            “Nagisa, I really don’t think we have to race,” Makoto interrupts, warily, but Nagisa glares at him, still holding onto Haru’s wrist.

            “Yes, you do! It’s impor – ”

            “Important, we get it,” Makoto sighs, then shakes his wet hair out of his eyes. “Why is this so important, Nagisa?”

            Nagisa shrugs. “I don’t want to say.”

            Haru attempts to pull his arm free again, but Nagisa’s grip is tight.

            “Nagisa,” Makoto groans, sliding a hand over his face.

            “Fine, if you want to know. You and Haru-chan are mad at each other, so if you race, you can take all your anger out by competing!” Nagisa announces, somewhat triumphantly, and Haru stops trying to pull away his wrist.

            “What? Nagisa! We’re not mad at each other!” Makoto exclaims, and Haru looks at him.

            “Haru-chan?” Nagisa is asking, but Haru answers to Makoto.

            “Yes, we are.”

            “Haru?” Makoto asks, weakly.

            “Let’s race, Makoto.”

            “But – ”

            Nagisa lets go of Haru’s wrist, and Haru gets out of the pool, reaches a hand out to Makoto, waits.

            “Haru, if you’re, umm, upset with me, we should talk about it, but I don’t think – ” Makoto starts, but Haru doesn’t want to listen to him.

            “I want to race,” Haru replies.

            “Oooh, icy,” Nagisa whispers, presumably to Rei, but Haru doesn’t bother listening to Rei’s response, as Makoto is making another strange expression, is taking his hand, and Haru is pulling him out of the pool, and then they are positioning on the starting blocks.

            Haru cannot remember the last time he had a one-on-one race with Makoto. He’s not sure he ever has.

            He never wanted to compete against Makoto. He never wanted to lose to him.

            He never wanted to win against him.

            He only ever wanted to be at the same pace as this boy, in the same lane as this boy.

            “On my mark,” Nagisa says, from between them, and Haru clenches his fingers tighter around the starting block. “Three, two, one – _Go!_ ”

            In the water, it is easy to forget.

            So Haru chooses to forget everything.

            The kisses, the more-than-kisses, Makoto’s hand burning down his torso, the way his body feels filled with Makoto’s exhales, the taste of his smiles, the pink of his cheeks and the nervous laughter and the feel of his hair, silky and soft.

            The awkwardness, the expressions he cannot read, the _It’s okay, Haru_ smiles, the words Makoto won’t say, the confusion, the strangeness, the horrible, aching feeling that he has lost his Makoto, his best friend, his other half, and he does not know how to find him, he does not know how to breathe without the comfort of the boy next door.

            Haru chooses to forget everything, but there is one thing that will not be forgotten, and that is how much he loves this boy, this stupid boy, and he cannot forget this, cannot swim away from it, feels himself slowing down with the weight of it, the pull on his bones and muscles and tendons and ligaments – he can hardly swim through it, is drowning in it.

            Haru surfaces to the sound of silence. He blinks, shakes out his hair, glances beside him and sees Makoto staring at him.

            “Congratulations, Makoto,” Haru says, and a crease appears between Makoto’s eyebrows.

            “Haru – ”

            Haru rests his palms on the ledge of the pool, pulls himself out of the water. Nagisa and Rei are silent, and Haru wonders why they are not congratulating Makoto, but he does not care all that much, and walks past them to the locker room.

            He has never been the first to leave practice. The locker room is quiet but nice, and Haru is buttoning his shirt by the time the door opens again.

            “Haru, what was that?”

            It’s Makoto. Haru’s fingers slide from one button to the next.

            “You swam well,” Haru replies, to his fingers.

            “I shouldn’t have won. You’re faster.”

            “You’ve been training – ”

            There’s a slam, and Haru glances up from his fingers, surprised to see Makoto’s fist against the lockers. He looks up at Makoto, sees the boy is not angry at all, but sad.

            It’s an odd thing, to see such an expression on this familiar face. Haru has hardly ever seen his friend upset. He knows Makoto hides this under his _It’s okay, Haru_ smiles, wonders where the usual _It’s okay, Haru_ smile is now, wonders why he’s suddenly so desperate for the usual _It’s okay, Haru_ smile when he’s wanted it to disappear for so long.

            “Haru, why did you do this? Am I not a serious opponent for you? Why would you just let me win, I want to be – I want to be someone you consider seriously – I want – ” Makoto shakes his head, covers his eyes with his hand that so recently hit the locker, and Haru wonders vaguely if it hurts from the impact.

            He’s glad that Makoto is covering half his expression. It makes the anger easier, it makes the words more ready on his lips.

            “Now you know how it feels,” he says, quietly, but there is nothing soft about his voice.

            The hand falls, and Makoto leans against the locker. “How what feels?” he asks, and he looks deflated, he looks miserable, nothing like the Makoto Haru knows.

            _Where is my Makoto?_

            Haru clenches his jaw, exhales slowly, curls his hands into fists before he speaks. “To realize that what you were sure was going to happen, what was supposed to happen, doesn’t always actually happen,” he says, carefully, because he needs to realize it too.

            The tomorrow he has been waiting for is not inevitable.

            The tomorrow he loves might never come.

            “Haru… Is this about – Is this about sex?” Makoto asks, and Haru doesn’t understand how Makoto doesn’t understand – Can he not feel it?

            Is he not lost?

            “No, Makoto,” Haru snaps, then reaches into his locker, grabs his pants and pulls them on over his swimsuit, doesn’t bother putting on his sneakers but picks them up and walks out of the locker room, eyes burning and refusing to cry in front of this boy he wishes he didn’t love so goddamn much – he wishes he didn’t love at all.

*

There are knocks on the door, and Makoto hardly ever knocks, but then, Haru hardly ever locks his front door.

            He stares at the television, which is off, but he doesn’t really notice this.

            “Haru! Please let me in, Haru!”

            Haru notices then that his television is not on. He glances around for the control, but it’s out of reach, and he doesn’t feel like moving.

            He doesn’t really feel like watching television, either.

            “Haru! I’m not leaving until you let me in!”

            Haru’s phone lights up, but it’s been doing that. He reaches out, pushes it off the couch, listens to the thunk as it falls onto his floor.

            “Haru. I can’t – I just need to talk to you. Let me talk to you. Just open the door, please open the door, Haru-chan,” Makoto says, and his voice is muffled, and Haru wonders if he has his hand covering his lips, if he’s trying to stifle these words, hide the way his voice breaks on the _–chan_.

            Haru gets up without meaning to. Walks to the door without intending to. Unlocks the lock without any desire to and opens it without wanting to at all, and Makoto nearly falls on top of him.

            Haru has to step back to accommodate the weight of this boy, but it is quickly off of him, as Makoto is stepping back out the threshold so that the open doorframe still lingers between them.

            “I – Sorry,” Makoto murmurs, and Haru realizes he must have been leaning on the door.

            Haru steps aside so Makoto can come in, but Makoto does not move; after begging Haru to come in, he does not.

            “Why are you acting like this?” Haru asks, and Makoto blinks at him, exhales slowly through parted lips Haru has kissed – Why did he ever kiss them?

            “I’m – I – I don’t think I can do this anymore. I want to, but – Haru, you’re – I just don’t know anymore – ” Makoto says, covering his face with his hands, speaking to his palms, and Haru hates him for this because it’s become hard enough to read his expressions when his face is uncovered, how dare he hide?

            “You don’t know what?” Haru demands, angry because Rin said it would get better, confused because it hasn’t gotten better – Why hasn’t it gotten better?

            Makoto just shakes his head, hands still covering his face, so Haru reaches out, pulls on his wrists, forces Makoto to look at him when he breaks Haru’s heart – because Haru deserves that, he wants to see the lips he won’t kiss again, he wants to see the eyelashes he won’t feel under his fingertips.

            “Haru,” Makoto whispers, and he looks like he’s going to cry, so Haru lets go of his wrists, does not want to see this, wants to step back and slam his door because it’s been years since he’s seen Makoto cry, and he doesn’t want to be the reason, he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

            Haru wants to say something, but doesn’t know what to say, wants Makoto to read his thoughts, but he doesn’t know what to think.

            “I think you should leave,” Haru hears himself saying, even though that’s not what he thinks – he doesn’t think anything.

            Makoto looks at him for a long moment, shakes his head, rubs his knuckles over his eyes, and Haru wants to turn away, but there is nothing else to look at – he doesn’t love the sky like he loves this boy, he doesn’t love the walls like he loves this boy, he doesn’t love the ground like he loves his boy.

            “Haru, I need you – I need you, Haru-chan,” Makoto says quietly, and he rubs his eyes again, but his face is still wet.

            It doesn’t make sense, none of it makes sense, Haru just wants something to make sense. “You can’t just say that,” he snaps, wishing Makoto would shut up, wishing he never wanted it to be tomorrow – what a stupid thing to want, tomorrow hurts, tomorrow is his least favorite day, tomorrow everything will be broken between them because Haru doesn’t know how to save them today.

            “I don’t know what to say,” Makoto says, and his hands are over his face again, but Haru is only relieved this time, only weak at the knees with how grateful he is not to have to see Makoto cry anymore.

            _Say, “It’s okay, Haru.”_

_Tell me you love me._

_Promise me tomorrow will be better than today._

            Neither boy says anything, and at some point, Makoto must have left, because Haru finds himself alone again, staring at the blank television screen, rubbing his own knuckles over his eyes.

*


	4. Chapter 4

“Time to get out, Haru, or we’ll be late for school.”

            Haru opens his eyes.

            Of course Makoto is in his bathroom, extending his hand, collecting Haru from his bathtub as he always does.

            Haru wants to slip further into the tub, submerge himself. Instead, he sits up, reaches out, places his wet hand in Makoto’s, which tightens around his palm, pulls him up with a gentle squeeze.

            “We’re a little late, do you want me to heat something up for you to eat on the way there?” Makoto asks, not quite to Haru’s face, but to the towel he extends after letting go of Haru’s hand.

            Haru takes the towel, presses it against his face, responds into it before realizing Makoto won’t be able to hear him, so he lowers it from his lips.

            “I’m not hungry.”

            “It’s not healthy to skip breakfast,” Makoto murmurs, to his feet.

            “I’m fine,” Haru says, so Makoto nods and leaves, and Haru dries himself and gets dressed with slower movements than they can afford.

            Even so, Makoto is waiting for him patiently by the front door with both their backpacks at his feet, and as Haru puts on his shoes, Makoto shoulders his backpack and holds out an apple.

            “Eat this on the way, or you’ll get a headache in class,” he says, and Haru stares at it for a moment before taking it, making sure not to let their fingers touch as the apple is exchanged.

            He does not have apples in his house, which means Makoto must have taken this from his own lunch. Haru bites into it after they descend the steps, and the juice trickles down his wrist.

            He catches it with his tongue before it can stain his sleeve, and it is too sweet on his lips.

            “I don’t want it to be like this,” Haru says quietly, later, when his apple is just a core and they are already at school, at Makoto’s locker.

            A book falls, slams against the bottom of Makoto’s locker and tumbles to the floor, but he does not pick it up, stands up instead, turns towards Haru.

            “I can’t talk about this now,” Makoto murmurs.

            “When, then?” Haru digs the apple stem into his fingertip.

            Makoto still won’t look at him, looks at the apple core instead. “Not at school.”

            “When?” Haru repeats.

            “Haru…”

            “When, Makoto?” Haru demands, pressing too hard on the stem of the apple, and it breaks off from the core, falls next to their feet.

            Makoto swallows, looks up at the ceiling, blinks quickly, and Haru realizes why he doesn’t want to talk about it in school.

            Haru wants to take back his words, but it’s too late.

            It’s too late to take back anything.

            “Makoto – ”

            “Can we – After school – ?” Makoto manages, quickly running the back of his hand over his eyes, and Haru pretends he did not see.

            “Yes. Fine.”

            The bell rings, and Makoto ducks down quickly, picks up his book, stuffs it in his backpack even though Haru knows Makoto doesn’t need it until the afternoon.

            He doesn’t say anything, not as Makoto closes his locker gently, not as they walk to class together, not as they sit in their seats.

            Haru looks out the window and pretends he does not hear Makoto blowing his nose behind him.

*

Instead of heading to the locker room after classes finish, Haru leads Makoto to the opposite side of the school than where the pool is.

            A fence surrounds the schoolyard, and Haru leans against it, braces his head back on the hard wire, lets the sun blind him for a few seconds before closing his eyes, watching the red dots swim behind his closed eyelids.

            “Haru… I don’t know what you want me to say,” Makoto says, and Haru opens his eyes, squints at Makoto, who clutches the fence beside him, head ducked to stare at the ground.

            Haru takes a breath, exhales without speaking by accident, has to take another breath, tries again.

            “I want us to go back to how we were. Can we do that?” he asks, like he practiced in his head all night, like he practiced in his head all day.

            Makoto can no longer hear his thoughts, so the words in his head mean nothing anymore.

            He never knew speaking was so hard because the words he had to say were never so important. Now he feels the weight of them, the syllables heavy on his tongue, too loud when they leave his lips.

            Makoto doesn’t say anything for a while, and Haru wonders if he is supposed to be reading his thoughts, wants to remind him that they can’t do that anymore, that they no longer have what they once did anymore.

            “I don’t know if I can, Haru,” Makoto says, quietly, and Haru stares at him, sees his hand tight around the wire, sees that he still won’t look up from the ground.

            “Why not?” Haru asks. He is empty and did not know he could become emptier.

            It hurts, and he did not know the pain could be worse.

            This boy is a stranger, and Haru did not know he could become even more unfamiliar.

            He’s supposed to say, _Okay, Haru._

            He’s supposed to agree, like he always does.

            “I’m sorry, Haru,” Makoto breathes, so quietly it could be the wind, but there is no wind, there is nothing but sun, too hot and too bright and too blinding.

            “I don’t understand,” Haru says, wanting Makoto to just look at him, at least look at him.

            Makoto shakes his head at the ground.

            “Then what do you want?” Haru demands. “Whatever it is, Makoto, just tell me.”

            “I can’t, Haru.”

            “Why?” Haru shouts, and Makoto looks at him.

            His eyes are flat. He looks emptier than Haru feels, and Haru cannot imagine such a feeling, is slightly amazed by it.

            “I’m scared, Haru,” Makoto says, but Haru has seen Makoto scared, and it is not this.

            When Makoto is scared, he clings to Haru’s t-shirts.

            When Makoto is scared, he burrows his face into Haru’s shoulders.

            When Makoto is scared, he wraps his arms around Haru’s waist.

            When Makoto is scared, he is warm, he is close; he is not cold, he is not distant.

            “Of what?” Haru asks, heart in his throat, feels as though he’s choking.

            Makoto looks at him for a long time, and Haru feels his skin get hot under Makoto’s gaze – not just his face, but his entire body, and he wonders if he is shaking or if the feeling of a storm caught in the cage of his ribs is something he is only imagining.

            “Of what you’re thinking,” Makoto says, finally, and Haru narrows his eyes, steps closer, wants to reach out but doesn’t know what he would do with his hand, where he would touch this boy who is supposed to be his best friend, but now he’s not so sure.

            “That doesn’t make sense,” he says, instead of admitting that he is breaking, that this boy he loves so much is breaking him.

            “I know, Haru. I’m sorry.”

            “Stop saying you’re sorry.”

            “I’m sorry,” Makoto says, anyway, then he closes his eyes, tight, before opening them again, no longer flat, but soft, sad.

            “What do you think I’m thinking?” Haru demands, and Makoto winces, steps back, shakes his head.

            “It’s not – Haru – I can’t say – ”

            “Why can’t you just tell me? We tell each other everything! That’s how it’s supposed to be,” Haru insists, because even though it was never out loud, it was true – they told each other everything, they knew everything, there was never this confusion, there was never this helplessness, there was never this squeezing of his chest.

            Makoto runs a hand through his hair, tightens his fingers around the silk for a brief moment before letting his hand drop back to his side.

            “No. We didn’t. I didn’t tell you everything.”

            Breaking, he is breaking, he is breaking, but somehow still able to speak. “What does that mean?”

            “I couldn’t tell you one thing.”

            “What thing? Why not?” Haru asks, wrapping his fingers tighter around the wire of the fence, wanting it to dig into his skin.

            “Because, Haru!” Makoto yells, for the first time looking mad, eyes narrowing not with concern but with anger, and Haru is oddly satisfied without knowing why. “Because I need you! And I was scared that this would ruin us! So I didn’t tell you, and then you said you wanted to kiss me, and god, Haru, I thought maybe – but you never said anything – so even then, it was just, I don’t know, you just wanted – I don’t know what you wanted, it felt good, I guess, and it did, I liked it, I loved it, that’s the problem, Haru, can’t you see, for so long all I’ve felt – But I couldn’t tell you because – Because you could always tell what I was thinking, but you didn’t know this, so you mustn’t have felt it back, so I couldn’t ruin us, Haru, I needed you, I need you, I didn’t want to lose you, but now I don’t know how to go back to pretending that I don’t – that I’m not – ”

            “You don’t know,” Haru interrupts quietly, astounded because suddenly he realizes, he understands.

            The words Makoto is saying are the words in his own head, and Haru knows the truths that fill the gaps Makoto is too scared to say, Haru knows the ends of these broken sentences because for so long they have been spelled out by the Morse code of his heart, for too long they have echoed in the silences squeezed between the beats of his pulse.

            “What?” Makoto asks, no longer yelling, no longer pulling at his hair, no longer looking angry; instead, he’s blinking and running his hand over his eyes again.

            “You don’t know that I love you,” Haru says, finally understanding that he had been wrong all this time – he was never out of synch with Makoto.

            They have always felt the same way.

            Of course they have. Of course they have. _Of course._

            Makoto had dropped his hands from his eyes, but he lifts them again, rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, hard, lowers them slowly now, blinks at Haru. “I – You – What?”

            Haru watches Makoto carefully. Remembers how Makoto told him just the day before, in the locker room – _I want to be someone you consider seriously_ – so he is as serious as he can be, wants Makoto to know, to finally understand the way Haru does now.

            Because god, it feels amazing.

            A bit like he’s about to combust into a million pieces, but in a good way, the best way, skin on fire and pulse too thick and fast and heart about to shatter, but Haru is not sure why shattering hearts are such a bad thing, he thinks it might be the best thing, he does not need his heart anymore if he has Makoto’s, he has no use for his life if he can share Makoto’s.

            “I love you,” Haru repeats, slowly, carefully, tasting the words on his tongue because he never let himself say them before, how foolish he was because they taste lovely, fit perfectly on his tongue, and as each falls from his lips it is a weight lifted off his chest.

             Makoto’s shoulders fall. His lips are parted in the most kissable way. His eyes are wet but do not drip, just shine as he stares at Haru.

            “You – You do?” he asks, and Haru nods.

            “Yes, Makoto.”

            Makoto reaches out, not towards Haru, but sideways, and his fingers trickle along the fence beside them until they manage to latch on, curling gently, and Makoto leans a little against his arm.

            “Haru – I – Not the way we’ve always loved each other. Not the way – You – Are you saying – What are you saying – I don’t – ”

            “Makoto,” Haru interrupts again, a little harshly, trying not to be annoyed at this boy who is having such a hard time understanding what is so simple – how could either boy not have known that the other felt the same way?

            “Haru?” Makoto whispers, wincing slightly, and Haru attempts to soften his voice again.

            “I am in love with you. Is that better?”

            “Ah – Umm – Oh,” Makoto manages, and it is not quite the three syllables Haru wanted to hear, but he doesn’t need Makoto to say it, he never needs Makoto to say anything because Makoto’s voice is in his head, of course it is, it always is, and Haru knows what Makoto is thinking – of course he does, he always has, he always will.

            “Are you going to say anything else?” Haru asks, mostly because he realizes that they are really late to swim practice at this point, and maybe they can wrap this up.

            Now they have forever, after all.

            “Umm – Haru-chan,” Makoto says, faintly, and Haru watches his fingers tighten momentarily around the wire fence before loosening again, “why didn’t you tell me before? Before – when we kissed the first time?”

            Haru shrugs. “I meant to. But I accidentally kissed you instead.”

            “Haru!”

            “You didn’t say anything either,” Haru reminds him, and Makoto makes a soft sound with his exhale, shakes his head and covers his face with the hand that isn’t curled around the fence.

            He peeks at Haru from between his fingers. “You always say what you want. I thought – If you wanted, umm, if you wanted me, that you would have said so. Or at least, I thought I would be able to tell.”

            “I want you,” Haru says, since that is what Makoto has apparently been waiting for, and Makoto closes his fingers so his eyes are covered again, makes another sound against his palm, and Haru can see his cheeks reddening around it.

            “Haru,” he mumbles, in a muffled way, and it’s unbearably cute, so Haru forgives him, somewhat, for causing them so much heartache.

            “Is that why you didn’t want to have sex? Because you didn’t think I loved you?” Haru asks, and Makoto drops his hand, looks at the ground, is silent for a minute, then speaks quietly.

            “I never minded loving you, Haru. Being in love with you was something I did for me, it was selfish, and it only hurt sometimes, when I thought about it too much, but mostly I was just happy to be with you, to be around you, to be a part of your life. But then – then we started kissing. And I was thinking about it more, wanting more from you than just friendship, and it started hurting more, and I didn’t – I wanted to, you know, to have sex with you so much, but I thought it would mean something different to me, and I couldn’t – I couldn’t do it like that.”

            His fingers are tight around the wire again, and Haru steps forward, into the small space between them.

            “But now you know. That I do love you,” he says, reminds Makoto, and Makoto looks up, smiles another smile, one that is small at first, that grows slowly, spreads softly, like the sun that is too bright today, that is blinding today, so incredibly warm on Haru’s skin.

            “Yes. Now I know that – that you do love me,” Makoto repeats, in a whisper like it is still a secret they are too scared to speak, too foolish to admit, and Haru takes another step forward, thinking he wants to kiss this boy, he will not wait for another tomorrow, he will not wait for another moment.

            “Can I kiss you now, Makoto?”

            Makoto laughs, lightly, covers his mouth with his hand, so Haru pulls his wrist, frees his lips, exposes his smile so that he can add it to his collection.

            “Okay, Haru-chan,” Makoto says, and when they kiss, Haru is so glad that he will have tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and the tomorrow after that, because he will never tire of the taste of this boy’s lips, and today will never be enough.

*

Makoto sits stiffly on the couch beside Haru.

            Haru watches him. Watches him rub the back of his neck. Watches him peek sideways, watches him smile with sheepish lips that he bites on, watches him blush.

            Haru sighs.

            He is happy, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t annoyed with this big idiot beside him.

            He reaches for the remote, clicks on the television, thinks that they could kiss, but they have tomorrow for that, and the day after, so there is no rush, really.

            Besides, there are reruns of Shark Week on Discovery.

            Haru shifts farther from Makoto, only so that he can lie on his side with his head in Makoto’s lap, and he feels Makoto flinch under him, but he’s tired – feels like he’s swam a thousand laps – so Haru doesn’t move.

            “Relax,” Haru chastises, closing his eyes because it’s just some boring commercial about cat food. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

            “I’m not nervous,” Makoto says, shifting under Haru, but only slightly, and Haru can tell he is trying not to be so tense.

            “It’s just me,” Haru reminds him, and Haru can hear Makoto’s exhale, can hear Makoto’s smile – but no, that can’t be right, smiles don’t have sound, he would know, he’s been collecting them for all his life.

            “I know it is, Haru,” Makoto says, after the cat food commercial has ended, and two commercial breaks later, just as Haru was drifting to sleep, he feels Makoto’s fingers in his hair.

            He lets his eyes close, but Haru has never been more awake, has never felt so warm, has never wished today would never end so much.

*

Nagisa insists on game night, which Haru has no interest in attending because there is no other option than for it to end in disaster, as Nagisa’s suggestions have been known to do.

            Makoto is going, though, so Haru grudgingly finds himself pushing away the birthday hat Nagisa throws at him.

            “Whose birthday is it?” Rin demands, eyeing the hat in his hand warily while Sousuke puts his own hat on without hesitation.

            “No one’s! It’s for festivity!” Nagisa exclaims, wearing two hats himself, and they perch on his head like pointy ears.

            “No,” Haru says, throwing the hat into the center of the circle they have sat in.

            Makoto is beside him, and puts on his hat warily.

            He looks ridiculous, and maybe a little ridiculously cute, but that’s not really anything new.

            “Your hat is crooked,” Rin points out, to Sousuke, who glances at him.

            “Fix it, then.”

            “Fix it yourself!”

            “I want you to fix it,” Sousuke says, and Rin turns so red that it has Rei blushing too and nervously spilling his water.

            “Oh – I’m so sorry,” Rei starts, grabbing the fallen cup, and the water seeps into Haru’s sock, as Haru sits cross-legged between Rei and Makoto.

            “It’s fine,” Haru says, because it is – the water feels cool and nice, and Haru is about to suggest they go swimming instead of doing this stupid game night, but then he remembers he already suggested this three times to no avail.

            “Of course Haru-chan doesn’t mind, Rei-chan, he likes being wet,” Nagisa says, smiling too widely at Rei, who knocks over the cup again, but it’s empty this time, and Haru is slightly disappointed.

            “Are we going to play, or what?” Rin asks, and Sousuke snatches the birthday hat from his hands.

            “You have to put this on first.”

            “Don’t you dare, Yamazaki,” Rin warns, but apparently, Sousuke dares, and Haru watches their struggle for a while because it’s more interesting than listening to Makoto explain the rules of Taboo.

            “Guys, are you listening?” Makoto asks, weakly.

            “I am!” Nagisa perks up, grabbing the buzzer and pressing it. “Rei-chan and I win!”

            “That’s not how you play,” Makoto says, taking the buzzer gently from Nagisa, who keeps pressing it.

            “If Nagisa won, does that mean the game is over? Let’s go swimming,” Haru says.

            “Haru, will you shut up,” Rin snaps, from across the circle.

            He is wearing his hat now, though it’s even more crooked than Sousuke’s, and his hair is significantly more disheveled under it, and Sousuke looks too smug beside him.

            “Does everyone understand how to play?” Makoto asks, and Haru presses his forehead into Makoto’s shoulder.

            “I thought we were done,” he murmurs, and Makoto laughs a little too loudly, which makes Haru grin, turning his head away from the circle.

            He knows Makoto is still shy about telling everyone about them, and this amuses him on some level, though he can’t say for sure why.

            Haru lifts his forehead and peers at Makoto from under his eyelashes.

            Makoto clears his throat. “Umm, why don’t we start?”

            “Sure, Makoto,” Haru agrees, though he has no idea how to play the game, but he forgets to mention this because Makoto is blushing slightly.

            “Okay. You know what to do, right? You have to make me guess the word on the card without saying any of the words under it. If I guess correctly, you go to the next card, and we have to get as many as possible.”

            “Okay,” Haru agrees.

            “Rin, you’re in charge of the timer. Sousuke, keep score of how many I guess correctly. Rei, look over Haru’s shoulder and make sure he’s not saying any of the words he’s not allowed to. If he does, press the buzzer.”

            “Got it,” Rei agrees, and Rin grabs the timer.

            “What do I do?” Nagisa shouts, but everyone ignores him.

            “Ready?” Rin asks, and Haru nods, sliding the stack of cards closer to him. “Go!”

            Haru flips over the first card, making sure not to let Makoto see it.   

            The word is “Firefighter,” and Haru isn’t allowed to say “truck,” “siren,” “fire,” or “emergency.”

            “Hero with water,” Haru says.

            “Firefighter!” Makoto shouts, and Rin throws up his hands while Haru flips to the next card.

            “Eats cheese,” Haru says.

            “Mouse!” Makoto replies.

            “Cute animal that isn’t a cat.”

            “Um, panda?”

            “Not water,” Haru says.

            “Boring,” Makoto replies.

            Haru flips another card. And another one. They continue in this manner for some time before Rin calls time, and they both look at Sousuke for their score, but all of their friends are silent.

            “I think we need to change the teams,” Sousuke says, after a moment.

            “Why?” Haru demands. This game is ridiculously easy, and he thinks they might be able to finish quickly enough if there are no further complications to make it to the pool within the hour.

            “It’s just not fair playing you two. It’s your stupid mind reading,” Rin objects.

            “What was our score?” Makoto asks.

            “Thirty-three,” Sousuke says.

            “Is that good?” Makoto says, as Haru slides the cards away from him.

            “Never mind that, how did you know he meant ice cream when he said ‘water that’s not warm?’” Rin demands.

            Makoto blinks. “Because that’s what ice cream is.”

            “Who chose this game anyway?” Rin says, adjusting his birthday hat in an angry manner. “You know what, I’m sure we’ll be as good,” he says to Sousuke, who laughs until Rin glares, and he quickly sobers.

            “Ah. Yes, maybe,” Sousuke says, and Makoto is handed the timer while Rin takes the stack of cards.

            “I get to press the button!” Nagisa shouts, grabbing it from Rei in a manner that somehow has him nearly sitting in Rei’s lap, although Haru cannot say exactly how this happened.

            Rei attempts to push him off, but is rather unsuccessful.

            “Ready?” Makoto is asking, and Rin nods, pulling his hair into a ponytail.

            “We have to beat those cheaters,” Rin tells Sousuke, who stifles a yawn.

            “Oh, definitely.”

            “I’m serious.”

            “Me too,” Sousuke says, nodding and sliding his birthday hat so it is even more tilted.

            Rin turns and gives Makoto another nod, and the timer is flipped.

            “Okay. It eats grass.”

            “Cow?” Sousuke asks.

            “No! Wait – It might not eat grass. But it definitely eats something,” Rin says, and Makoto giggles.

            “That’s not really a good hint, Rin,” Sousuke points out.

            “Shut up! It has antlers – ”

            “Buzz!” Nagisa shouts, as he presses the buzzer. “You’re not allowed to say antlers, Rin-chan.”

            “You don’t have to shout buzz when you press the buzzer. That’s the point of the buzzer,” Sousuke points out.

            “Are you concentrating, Yamazaki?” Rin shouts.

            “What’s the next one?” Sousuke sighs.

            “Okay, this one flies – ”

            “Buzz!” Nagisa shouts.

            “Nagisa! Stop shouting buzz!”

            “Forget it! Let’s just go freaking swimming!” Rin snaps, throwing down the cards, and Haru perks up.

            “Nagisa-kun and I haven’t had a turn,” Rei says, and Nagisa turns around on his lap and kisses him sloppily on the lips.

             “There,” Nagisa says, as he pulls away, “we just won. Right, Mako-chan? That was in the rules, right?”

            Haru glances at Makoto, whose face is entirely red.

            “I – Um – I actually don’t think – ”

            “Nagisa!” Rei shouts, hand over his lips, but Nagisa just laughs and stands up, stretches his arms over his head, and they jostle his birthday hats.

            “Okay, we can swim now, Haru-chan,” Nagisa sings, and he skips out of the room while the rest of them turn their attention to Rei, who fumbles with his glasses.

            “Um – Ah, you may have noticed – The fact is – Nagisa-kun and I – In a manner of speaking – That is to say – ” Rei stammers.

            “Rei-chan!” Nagisa calls, from another room. “Come help me change into my swimsuit!”

            “Oh my god,” Rin says.

            “Was that really in the rules?” Haru asks Makoto, his interest gone from the kiss because really, that had been obvious for a while.

            Neither Nagisa or Rei, after all, were ever that subtle.

            “What?” Makoto asks, faintly, turning to Haru.

            “Because we should have just kissed first. Then we would have won a long time ago and gotten to swim earlier,” Haru says, and then he remembers that he wasn’t supposed to say anything yet. “Oh, sorry.”

            “Ah, wait, it’s not what you – ” Makoto starts, glancing from Haru to the rest of their friends and looking hopeless, so Haru takes matters into his own hands and decides to distract them.

            “Guys,” he says, putting on his birthday hat as an extra distraction. “How did the gardener feel when winter ended?”

            “What are you talking about?” Rin asks, and Haru thinks his distraction is working.

            “He was so excited he wet his plants,” Haru says, and Sousuke bursts into laughter while Rin just shakes his head.

            “That was so awful, Nanase.”

            Haru ignores him and turns to Makoto. “I think we’re safe. Sorry,” he murmurs, and Makoto blinks at him, smiles a small smile.

            “I don’t mind, Haru,” he says, and Haru stares at this ridiculously cute boy and wonders if Nagisa would mind if he kept the birthday hat.

*

They were cooking and then they were kissing – Makoto remembering to reach around Haru and turn off the stove – but now they are simply catching their breath because sometimes they forget to breathe.

            At least, Haru forgets to breathe, and as long as he can go underwater without breathing, he has learned that he likes to kiss Makoto even longer.

            “Hey, Haru, can I ask you something?” Makoto asks, looking up at Haru because Haru sits on the counter, not quite remembering how he got up there but assuming Makoto must have lifted him at some point.

            Makoto stands between his knees and looks breathless and beautiful.

            “Okay.”

            “How long?” Makoto asks.

            Haru inhales deeply, exhales in a rush, pulls on the apron around his neck and wishes it were on the ground with Makoto’s t-shirt.

            _How long have you loved me?_ Haru knows Makoto is really asking.

            “Very long,” Haru answers, thinking if he has enough breath to speak, he is ready to kiss again, and he shifts closer to the edge of the counter, but Makoto is talking again instead of kissing him.

            “Yeah, but how long?” Makoto asks, brushing his bangs from his eyes, and they slick back a bit, wet with sweat.

            “Makoto.”

            “What?”

            “Are you asking for the exact moment?” Haru asks, placing his palm against the cool counter and shifting his weight onto his arm because he’s exhausted, kissing this boy is so exhausting; he cannot wait to kiss him again.

            Makoto looks down at Haru’s knees, looks back up in a hesitant way.

            “Well, no. But if there is one…” he hedges, and Haru exhales again.

            He supposes he might not get to kiss this boy until he tells him, so he might as well.

            “We were walking home from the pool, and it was nighttime, and our parents had just started letting us walk home alone together, and you were scared because it was dark, so I let you hold my hand, and your hand was all sweaty and wet, but I liked how that felt and I didn’t want to let go ever, and when we got to my house I wanted you to come home with me, and I realized I always wanted you to come home with me, and I just wanted us to live together and always be together, and I guess that’s when,” Haru says.

            Makoto blinks at him. “You fell in love with me because my hand was wet? Haru…”

            “That’s not why.”

            “That’s what you just said!” Makoto objects, rubbing a hand over his face.

            “I fell in love with you because you are my best friend and it only ever feels right when you’re with me,” Haru snaps, and Makoto drops his hand.

            “Oh,” he says.

            Haru is silent, breathes more, collects his breaths because they have become something valuable now, something he needs to store before Makoto has a chance to take them away again.

            “That’s – I feel like that about you too, Haru,” Makoto says, quietly, and Haru has to refrain from rolling his eyes.

            “I know that, Makoto.”

            “I really like you, Haru-chan.”

            Haru wants to be irritated, but he can’t be, not when Makoto is looking up at him like that, like he really means it, like he really thinks this is something Haru does not know, and it was, for a long time, Haru cannot believe that he did not know what is so obvious, what is so natural.

            “I know,” Haru says, softly.

            “Okay. That’s all, Haru,” Makoto says.

            Haru nods, satisfied. “I don’t want to wear this apron anymore,” Haru says, and Makoto smiles and reaches out, helps Haru take off the apron, which is added to Makoto’s t-shirt on the floor along with a few other items of clothing.

*

Rin paces while Haru flips through a magazine.

            “Rin, sit down.”

            “I can’t.”

            “He’s not going to come out faster if you keep pacing.”        

            “Why does it bother you anyway?” Rin snaps.

            “Because it’s annoying. Sit down,” Haru snaps back.

            To his surprise, Rin collapses in the chair across from his, elbows on his knees that he stares down at and hands burrowed into his hair. “I hate him.”

            Haru doesn’t say anything because they both know that’s a lie.

            Rin peeks up at him. “He should have let me go in there with him.”

            “He didn’t want you freaking out.”

            “I wouldn’t freak out!” Rin shouts, and Haru is glad the waiting room is empty but for them.

            Again, he stays silent because the truth is obvious enough without Haru having to point it out.

            “He needs my support. What if they tell him – I mean, what if he needs surgery – He shouldn’t be in there alone – ”

            “Rin, he needs you to support him in the way he feels will help.”

            “He doesn’t know what he needs!” Rin objects, and Haru sighs, puts down the magazine on the table beside his chair and leans forward.

            “You need to compose yourself before he comes out.”

            “How can I – ”

            “Rin! If he gets bad news, you can’t break down on him. Okay? You have to tell him it’ll be okay. You have to make him believe that,” Haru says, and Rin stares at him, eyes wide, lets his hands fall from his hair and nods numbly.

            “Okay,” he whispers.

            “Can you do that?” Haru asks.

            “I think – No, yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

            “No freaking out.”

            “No freaking out,” Rin agrees, running a hand through his hair again.

            His sneaker taps rapidly on the tile floor, but Haru lets that slide.

            “It might be okay,” Rin says, after a minute.

            Haru glances at him. “Rin, don’t start this.”

            “What? I’m just saying, there’s no need to be so pessimistic. You’re just like him. You guys have no hope at all, you know, Makoto would be on my side.”

            “It’s not about sides. There are no sides.”

            Rin points at him, eyes in slits, and Haru is used to this, doesn’t mind the anger because it’s better than the hopelessness. “There are sides! There’s his side, and I’m on it, and you – You with your, your, your ‘You have to be realistic, Rin’ – that’s not on his side!”

            “Whose side is Sousuke on, then?” Haru asks, gently, and Rin deflates, hand falling against his knee.

            “He’s just – He’s just an idiot,” Rin says, quietly.

            “He’s scared, Rin,” Haru says, and Rin shakes his head, won’t look at him. “He needs to know that you’ll be okay no matter what – ”

            “This isn’t about me!”

            “No, it’s not. So stop freaking out. If he can’t swim again, fine. You have to let it go. You can’t force him to see another doctor after this. It’s not fair to him.”

            “You don’t know anything about this,” Rin snaps, and Haru leans back, exhales, doesn’t bother arguing because there’s no point.

            Rin’s not angry with him, anyway.

            Haru doesn’t really think he’s angry at all.

            He thinks he’s just scared too.

            Haru’s phone vibrates, and he glances at it, sees Makoto’s name, opens the text.

            _any news?_

 _still waiting_ , Haru texts back.

            “Is that Makoto?” Rin asks.

            “Yeah.”

            “I can’t wait any longer,” Rin mumbles, hands back in his hair.

            _how’s rin?_

_freaking out_

“Stop being so nervous. If he can’t swim anymore, he can’t swim anymore. That doesn’t change him,” Haru snaps, before his phone lights up again.

            _be nice 2 him haru._

            “You don’t think I know that?” Rin nearly yells.

            “So calm down, then.”

            “Don’t tell me what to do, Nanase!”

            _i’m always nice_

            Haru has only just pressed send when the door to the waiting room opens, and Sousuke walks in, rubbing his shoulder, and he smiles in a wincing way at Rin, who has jumped up from his seat.

            “Hey – Hi – How was – What did the doc – I mean – What’s going on, what’s up?” Rin says, stepping quickly towards Sousuke, then stepping once awkwardly back, one hand back in his hair.

            Sousuke shrugs jerkily. “I knew it was like this. I told you before we came here,” he says, quietly.

            “But what – Oh. Oh,” Rin says, and Haru watches them quietly, his phone lighting up on his knee, but he doesn’t open the text.

            “Yeah. It’s fine. I knew he’d say – I knew I wouldn’t be able to swim again. It’s fine,” Sousuke repeats. “I’m fine.” He smiles again at Rin, a smile that looks more like a grimace than anything, really, and maybe it is.

            “Sousuke…”

            “Rin, can you just – Can you just not argue or – Or say anything, really?” Sousuke sighs, rubbing his temples, and Rin moves forward, lifts his arms and hugs Sousuke, pushing Sousuke’s hand away from his temples.

            Sousuke stands still for a moment, arms awkwardly by his side, before placing them carefully against Rin’s shoulder blades.

            “It will be fine,” Rin says, and he’s not panicked, he’s not freaking out, he’s only reassuring and calm and gentle, and Haru is somewhat fascinated, but he looks away when Sousuke’s hands grip the back of Rin’s jacket, when his arms tighten around Rin’s back, when he ducks his face into Rin’s shoulder.

            Haru glances down at his phone. Opens the text.

            _i’m glad ur there 4 him today haru._

            “Hey, it’ll be okay, all right? I promise, we’ll be fine,” Rin is saying, and Haru tightens his hand around his phone, has the sudden strange urge to text Makoto _I love you_ , but he doesn’t even though it is not a secret anymore.

*

A lot of loving Makoto is familiar.

            But a lot of it is new and strange and weird, and sex is on the top of that list, and even when it’s not new anymore, it’s still a little strange and weird, and Haru suspects it might be this way for a while.

            He is not altogether opposed to this. He likes the comfort of Makoto, is so glad this comfort is back, but the nervousness is nice too, sometimes, the dance of his pulse and the spasms of his heart and especially Makoto’s giggles, which Haru doesn’t mind so much anymore.

            Especially compared to the other sounds that come with sex, some of which are amazing, yes, but some of which are so dreadfully awful.

            They are sitting on Haru’s bed looking at a diagram on Haru’s laptop, and Makoto seems wary.

            “It doesn’t seem possible.”

            “It is. I’ve seen a video,” Haru says, and Makoto makes a cute sound in his throat.

            “Okay. But it doesn’t seem possible for me. I’m not that – flexible.”

            “We can stretch first.”

            “It looks a little dangerous.”

            “We’ll stretch a lot.”

            “It might be a little too early in our sex life to spice things up like this,” Makoto says, and Haru considers.

            Yes, Makoto may have a point.

            They can try this particular position tomorrow.

            “So just our normal sex, then?” Haru asks, and Makoto falls back on the bed, grabs Haru’s pillow and presses it into his face.

            Haru closes his laptop, places it on his dresser, and pulls the pillow from Makoto’s face. “What?”

            Makoto breathes deeply. “Nothing. It’s just – Sometimes you overwhelm me, Haru.”

            “Is that a good thing?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay. Let’s have sex then.”

            “Okay,” Makoto agrees.

            They have sex, and it’s not crazy or dangerous, but Haru doesn’t mind one bit, and he has pretty decent evidence that Makoto doesn’t mind either.

*

“That’s even more of a disaster than when you confessed,” Sousuke observes, as Rin’s golf club goes flying from his hands.

            Haru has long since thrown his golf club into one of the ponds by hole eight. When he tried to retrieve it, he was pulled back by Makoto, who insisted this is what got him banned from the last mini golf club course.

            He does not seem to realize that Haru has no desire to have access to mini golf club courses.

            “How did you confess?” Haru asks, not because he particularly cares, but because this story may be enough to distract Makoto so Haru can slip off and run back to the pond by hole eight.

            Sousuke takes a swing – with just his good arm – but he still has the best shot, his blue ball slipping easily passed the windmill and gliding to about a foot away from the tenth hole.

            “Rin never told you? Well, I guess he wouldn’t.”

            “Yamazaki, I swear, I will beat you with this golf club,” Rin warns, and Haru finds himself becoming a bit interested after all.

            “You wouldn’t beat a cripple,” Sousuke says, and the statement is followed by silence, broken after half a minute by Rin’s somewhat angry murmur.

            “You’re not a cripple.”

            Sousuke sighs. “It was a joke, Rin.”

            “It’s not funny.”         

            “All right, fine, I’m sorry I’m just trying to make light of this,” Sousuke retorts.

            “Are you going to tell them how I confessed or what?” Rin snaps, before seeming to realize what he said, after which he stomps off to retrieve his golf club as Makoto hits his green golf ball.

            It bounces off Rin’s red ball, sending Rin’s into the sand bank.

            Sousuke grins at Haru and Makoto. “He was drunk.”

            “Sousuke!” Rin shouts.

            “Really drunk,” Sousuke adds, as they join Rin, who hits his golf ball so hard it flies all the way back to hole five.

            “Goddammit,” Rin mutters.

            “And I’ve never seen Rin drunk before. I don’t think he’s ever actually drunk alcohol before, since he’s gotta keep up that Olympic body – ”

            “Sousuke, come on, that’s enough,” Rin says, weakly, and Haru is amazed.

            “You drank?”

            “Just once! And never again!” Rin yells.

            “What was it like?” Makoto asks.

            “Awful,” Rin mumbles, hand over his face.

            “He sang,” Sousuke inputs.

            “Sang?”

            “Sousuke,” Rin hisses.

            “You know that American song, ‘Sweet Caroline?’ Except his version was – ”

            “Sousuke, for the love of – ”

            “ – ‘Sweet Sousuke,’” Sousuke says, grinning.

            “Ah,” Makoto says, wincing.

            “Yeah, it was painful.”

            “I hate you,” Rin says, throwing down his golf club and walking towards the next hole even though he now has no club or ball.

            “That’s not what you said when you burst into our room, serenading me,” Sousuke points out, and Rin holds up his middle finger without turning around, which only makes Sousuke laugh.

            “Maybe you shouldn’t tell us – ” Makoto starts, but Haru interrupts him.

            “What did he say?”

            Sousuke laughs, shakes his head. “Nothing. He sang his song, which was nearly incoherent except for whenever he would belt out my name, and then he came over and kissed the hell out of me, but he tasted disgusting and was very sloppy about it, and I think he cut my lip with his teeth, actually,” Sousuke muses, while Rin walks past the tenth hole onto the eleventh.

            “Sousuke! I can still hear you, you asshole!” Rin shouts over his shoulder.

            “Rin, there are kids here!” Makoto calls, cringing, but Rin does not seem to care.

            “What happened next?” Haru asks.

            “He said he felt like he was going to be sick, so I dragged him to the bathroom and we sat in front of the toilet while he cried a little because his socks weren’t matching. And then he threw up. And then he wanted to sleep, but didn’t seem able to walk, so I carried him to bed, and while I threw a blanket over him, he told me he was very in love with me. It was an interesting night,” Sousuke says, laughing again.

            Rin’s groan is audible from three holes over now, and Sousuke just shakes his head.

            “It’s pretty weird how this happened, though, don’t you think?” he says.

            “How what happened?” Makoto asks, as he taps his golf ball. It circles around the edge of the hole until Haru nudges it in with his sneaker. “Haru, that’s cheating,” Makoto points out.

            “No, it’s not. We’re on a team,” Haru says.

            He doesn’t know much about golf, but Makoto seems satisfied with his response, and Sousuke doesn’t object.

            Rin probably would, but he’s at hole fourteen now, nearly out of sight.

            “You know,” Sousuke is saying, “how Rin and I, and Nagisa and Rei, and you two…” Sousuke waves his golf club, and Haru and Makoto stare at him.

            “What?” Makoto asks.

            “Forget it,” Sousuke sighs, shaking his head before calling to Rin. “Hey, Matsuoka! Come back!”

            “Don’t talk to me, Yamazaki!” Rin shouts back.

            “He’s so freaking dumb sometimes, you know,” Sousuke notes, fondly, and Haru realizes that what he said earlier might be true.

            They are pretty weird.

*

“Haru, that’s my shirt,” Makoto says, pointing at Haru, who is on Makoto’s bed memorizing the copy of Makoto’s class schedule that he printed out for Haru earlier that day.

            “So?” Haru says, looking back at the schedule.

            On Wednesdays, Makoto has four classes in a row, which means there will be six straight hours of no Makoto. Haru decides he will have to sneak into some of Makoto’s lectures with him and peers at the course names for Wednesdays, looking for one about swimming.

            “I need to pack it,” Makoto says, kneeling on the bed in front of Haru. “Lift your arms,” he instructs.

            Haru does not listen, keeps his arms by his side. “I’ll just bring it.”

            “You’ll forget it. It’s my favorite shirt.”

            “I won’t forget it.”

            “Haru, it’d be easier if I could just pack it right now.”

            Haru stares his boyfriend in the eye. “No.”

            “Haru!” Makoto moans, breaking their gaze to duck his head into Haru’s shoulder.

            Haru turns his face so that his nose is tickled by Makoto’s hair. He breathes in, and it smells like Makoto’s shampoo, some kind of fruit, maybe strawberry.

            He likes the weight of Makoto’s head against his shoulder. It is comforting, the slight pressure of it.

             But then it is gone, as Makoto is lifting his head, peering at Haru with that lovely mix of heavy eyelids and gentle eyes, and Haru wants to kiss him, so he does, leans forward and presses his lips against this boy’s, just for a second, just for a breath.

            “What was that for?” Makoto asks, when Haru pulls away, and Haru shrugs.

            Makoto’s smile is reluctant and adorable.

            “I guess there doesn’t really have to be a reason.”

            “No, there doesn’t,” Haru agrees, leaning closer, kissing this boy again because he doesn’t have to have an excuse.

            Makoto pulls away after lips have opened, after Haru tastes his skin, sweet and sticky from his chapstick.

            “Haru, I have to pack,” Makoto murmurs, but Haru is already reaching out, grasping his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

            “Do it tomorrow,” he whispers, and Makoto nods against his lips.

            Haru makes a mental note to inform Nagisa of the change in his favorite day.

 

THE END


End file.
